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CHRISTIAN MORALS: 




BY 



HANNAH V MORE. 



In moral actions, Divine law helpeth exceedingly the law 
of Rea«pn to guide a man's life ; but in supernatural, it 
alone guideth, Hooker. 



FIRST AMERICAN FROM THE FOURTH 
LONDON EDITION. 



WEW YORK: 



PUBLISHED BY EASTBURN, KIRK fc €p } 

86 BROADWAY, CORNER OF 

WALL-STREET, 

1*813, 



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Lc Control Number 



Printed by D. & G. B 




tmp96 027956 



AS 
A SLIGHT MEMORIAL 

OF 

SJNCERJE ESTEEM AND CORDIAL FRIENDSHIP, 

THIS LITTLE SKETCH 

OF 

CHRISTIAN MORALS 
is, 

WITH STRICT PROPRIETY, 
INSCRIBED TO 

THE REV. THOMAS GISBORNE, 

OF YOXALL LODGE; 

IN HIS WRITINGS AND IN HIS LIFE, 

A CONSISTENT 

CHRISTIAN MORALIST. 



PREFACE 



jV/F R. POPE, in his Essay' on Criticism, lias asserted, 
that the "last and greatest art" of literary composi- 
tion is 6< the art to blot." With a full conviction of the 
difficulty and the duty of this art, the Author of the follow- 
ing pages ventures to insist, even in contradiction to this 
high, authority, that there is, in writing, an art still more 
rare, still more slowly learned, still more reluctantly adop- 
ted tite art to stop. 

But when shall this difficult, but valuable, art be resorted 
to ? At what precise moment shall we begin to reduce so 
wholesome a theory to practice ? It may be answered — at 
*<he period when time may reasonably be suspected to have 
extinguished the small particle of fire which the fond con- 
ceit of the author might tempt him to fancy he once pos- 
sessed, 

But how is he to ascertain this critical moment of extinc- 
tion ? His own eyes, always dim in the discernment of his 
own faults, may have become quite blind. His friends are 
too timid, or too tender, to hazard the perilous intimation* 
If his enemies, always kindly ready to perform this neglee- 
ted office of friendship, proclaim the unwelcome trftth, they 
• are probably not believed. The public, then, who are nei- 
ther governed by the misleadings of affection, nor influen- 
ced by the hostility of hatred, would seem to be the proper 
arbiters, the court from whose decision there should lie no 
appeal. 

But if, through generous partiality to good intentions^ 
A t 



VI , PREFACE. 

or habitual kindness to long acquaintance, that public, in- 
stead of checking, continue to cherish, the efforts which they 
have been accustomed to indulge, and the author be tempt- 
ed still to persist in writing, may he not be in eminent dan- 
ger of wearing out the good humour of his protectors, by a 
successive reproduction of himself— of abusing their kind- 
ness, by the vapid exhibition of an exhausted intellect? 

May the writer of the following pages, without incur- 
ring too heavily the imputation of vanity, be permitted to 
observe, that there is a sense in which the favour she has 
uniformly experienced is honourable to that public who 
have conferred it? Their indulgence has never been pur* 
chased by flattery ; their support has never been a pay- 
ment for softening errors that require, not to be qualified, 
but combated ; has never been a reward for incense offered 
to the passions, for sentiments accommodated to whatever 
appeared to be defective in any reigning opinion, in any 
prevailing practice. They have received with approbation 
unvarnished truth, and even borne with patience bold re- 
monstrance. In return, she is willing to hope, that she 
has paid them a more substantial respect, by this hazar- 
dous sincerity, than if she had endeavoured to concili- 
ate their regard by indirect arts and unworthy adula- 
tion. 

Next to injuring any reader, her deepest regret would 
be to offend him ; but when the questions agitated are of 
momentous concern, would not disguising truth, or palli- 
ating error, be, as to the intention, the worst of injuries, 
however powerless the writer might be in making a bad 
intention effectively mischievous ? Sincere, therefope, as 
would be her concern, if any stroke of her pen 



PREFACE. VH 

Should tend to make one worthy man her foe, 
i 
yet the feeling of having contributed to mislead a single 

youthful mind, by the suppression of a right, or the estab- 
lishment of a false principle, weuld be more painful than 
any censures which an imprudent honesty might draw 
down upon her. 

If the humble work now presented to the world, be of 
little use to the reader, the writer is willing to hope it may 
not be altogether unprofitable to herself. If it induce her 
more strenuously to cultivate the habit of rendering specu- 
lation practical, if it should dispose her to adopt more 
cordially what she is so prompt to recommend, she will 
then have turned to some little account the hours of 
pain and suffering under which it has been composed. 

She does not, however, absurdly presume to plead pain 
and suffering as an apology for defects in a work which she 
wa6 at liberty not to have undertaken ; for, with whatever 
other evils sickness may be chargeable, it imposes on no one 
the necessity of adding one more to the countless catalogue 
of indifferent Books. 

Barley Wood, 
JDecember 10th, 1812, 



CONTENTS, 



CHAP. I. 

Page, 
On the Writers of Pious Books ...••••>•**••••••• 13 

CHAP. II. 
On Providence > ■• • •• • U • • • • • • • • 30 

CHAP. III. 

Practical Uses of the Doctrine of Providence *•••*• 43 

CHAP. IV. 
Thy will be done ... -^ •-...-•.. . .^ ............ . 54 

CHAP. V. 
Oa Parable ••. • •«•»< •• 66 

CHAP. VI. 
On the Parajble of the Talents ............ > . . 74 

CHAP. VIL 

On Influence, considered as a Talent • .*.*....» • 84 

CHAP. VIII 

On Time, considered as a Talent * • • - * ........... 97 

CHAP. IX. 

On Charity • . ^ ...... . * * 10§ 

CHAP. X. 
On Prejudice .......,"........» - 1 tp 



^ CONTENTS. 

CHAP. XL 
Particular Prejudices ... ~ ............ . ... . . • . • 133 

CHAP. XII. 

Farther Causes of Prejudice • • ♦ • ♦ ........■••••• MJ . i4(j 

CHAP. XIII. 

Humility the only true Greatness ......... 152 

CHAP. XIV. 
On Retirement ..••••••• .......... 167 

CHAP XV. 
Dangers and Advantages of Retirement « '> .• •«• • • • • • 181 

CHAP. XVI. 

&n Inquiry y why some Good Sort of People are not better 1 91 

CHAP. XVII. 

The Inquiry, why some Good Sort of People are not better > 
continued • • • • -...•• ^ ••-•••••..••....... . 200 

CHAP. XVIII. 

Tlioughts respectfully suggested to Good Sort of People 214 

CHAP. XIX, 
On Habits • 22C 

CHAP. XX. 

On the Inconsistency of Christians with Christianity 242 

CHAP, XXI. 

Expostulation with the inconsistent Christian ...... 252 

CHAP. XXII. 

Reflections of an inconsistent Christian after a serious Pe- 
rusal of the Bible % . 26$ 



CONTENTS. Xt 

CHAP. XXIII. 

The Christian in the World 270 

CHAP. XXIV. 

Difficulties and Advantages of the Christianin the World 282 

CHAP. XXV. 
Candidus - • *=••■■.* 29* 

CHAP. XXVI. 
The established Christian ••••••••••• *•• ••♦••••• • SiS 



CHRISTIAN MORALS 



CHAP. I. 

ON THE WRITERS OF PIOUS BOOKS. 

ALL the things in this world carry in them such evident 
marks of imperfection, are so liable to be infected 
with error, good is separated from evil by such slight par- 
titions, and the deflection from what is right is so easy, that 
even undertakings which should seem most exempt from 
danger are yet insecure in their conduct, and uncertain iu 
their issue. Writing a soundly-religious book might seem 
to put in the claim of an exempt case ; but does experience 
prove that the exemption is infallible? The employment 
is good, the motive is likely to be pure ; the work may be 
unexceptionable in its tendency, and useful in its con?e ■ 
quences. But is it always beneficial to the writer in the 
proportion in which he intends it to be profitable to the 
reader? Even of the reader, is his own improvement al- 
ways the leading aim ? Does a critical spirit never di- 
minish the benefit which the book was calculated to convey? 
If he is convinced by the more essential truths it impart?, 
is. not some trivial disagreement of opinion, in a matter on 
which persons may differ without any charge against the 
piety of either, made jfto defeat all the ends of improve . 
ment? Is not an insignificant, perhaps an ill-foun 
jection, suffered to invalidate the merit of the whole ivork ? 
Is not this eagerly detected fault triumphantly kept 
fore-ground, while all that is valuable is overio: 
ftfficarw defeated • the criticism fcemg a* okre rr '°: : --:' q 



14 



ON THE WRITERS 



give prominence to the error of the writer and the sagacity 
of the critic? Another reader is probably searching for 
brilliancy when he should be looking for truth, or he is 
only seeking a confirmation of his own opinions, when he 
should rather have been looking for their correction. 

As to the writer, is he not in danger of being absorbed 
in the mechanical part of his work, till religious composition 
dwindles into a mere secular operation ? May he not he- 
diverted from his main object by an over- attention to ele- 
gance, to correctness, to ornament ;— all which indeed are 
necessary ; for if he would benefit he must be read, if he 
would be read he must please, if he would please he must 
endeavour to excel ;— but maybe not, in taking some, take 
too much pains to please, and so become less solicitous to 
benefit, to the injury both of his reader and himself? May 
not the very lopping and pruning his work, the flowers 
which he is anxiously sticking into it, the little decorations 
with which he is setting off those parts which he fears may 
be thought dry and dull, raise a sensation in his mind not 
unlike that which a vain beauty feels in tricking out her 
person i May he not, by too much confidence in his own 
powers, be blind to errors obvious to all but himself; or else 
may he not use the file too assiduously, and by over-labour 
in smoothing the asperities of his style, diminish the force 
of his meaning, and polish honest vigour into unprofitable 
elegance ? w 

Some indeed have been so indulgent to authors under 
their many difficulties, as to allow them a certain mixture 
of inferior excitement, as an under- help to assist such rap- 
tives as are more pure. If they did not feel a little too 
full of their work, when it was under their hand, it has been 
said, they would not devote to it the full force of their 
mind. This anxiety, or rather this absorption, it is pre- 
sumed, lasts no longer than till the immediate object is ac- 
complished. It retreats indeed, but waits for the author, 
seizes hira again with undiminished force on his next under- 



OF PIOUS BOOKS. 15 

taking. If he fancied that his former subject was all in 
all while his mind was intent upon it, that preference, like 
the fondness of an animal for its young, which is lost when 
they no longer need its fostering care, is transferred to the 
next. 

As this ardour in a rightly-turned mind will not be suf- 
ficiently durable to ripen into vanity, but will cool as soon 
as the end for which it was exerted is answered ; it will not 
materially injure the conscientious writer ; for he will pro- 
bably, when the impetus is taken off, as much undervalue 
his work, as he had before over-rated it. But wofully de- 
ficient in humility is that author, whose enthusiasm does not 
subside, when it is no longer necessary to keep alive the 
spirit of his undertaking ! Convicted indeed will he be of 
vanity, who persists in thinking his work as glowing, as 
when, with a judgment dazzled by his ardor, he viewed it 
hot, and fresh-drawn from the furnace! 

But perhaps when a man engages in any little service, 
if he did not in some degree exaggerate its value, in his 
hope of its utility, he would want one motive for attempt- 
ing it. Is it not therefore a smaller evil that he should a 
little magnify its importance to his imagination, than that 
complete hopelessness should totally deter him from all 
enterprize ? Natural indolence is in many, too powerful 
a subduer even of religious exertion, to allow them to 
work without hope. If hope flatters, she at least supports ; 
thus something is achieved which else would not have been 
done at all. Again, the timid writer foresees that many 
objections may be raised to his work. This would amount 
to a disqualifying dejection, did he not take comfort in the 
chance that his censors may possibly disagree among them- 
selves as to the points deserving criticism, and that one 
may even commend what another condemns. Thus his 
mind is kept in a just equilibrium ; without the expecta- 
tion of censure, he would be vain ; without some hope of 
approbation, even the purity of his intention might not al- 
W ays secure him from despondency, 



J$ ON THE WRITERS 

But though no mixed motives or human feelings in the 
author ought to interfere with those of the reader, who has 
only to do with the book, and not with the man, it is of no 
small moment to himself, that both feelings and motives be 
pure. It is of the last importance that he do not impose on 
himself the belief, that he has only the honour of religion 
at heart, when literary renown, or victory over an adver- 
sary, may be the predominating principle. He will also be 
careful that his best endowments be not converted into im- 
plements of injury ; he will be cautious that his learning, 
which is so useful to arm his zeal, do not help to encumber 
k ; that his prudence, which is so necessary to moderate, 
do not extinguish it. 

But if he come off clear from these temptations, other 
and greater lurk behind. He should bear in mind, that in 
composing a religious work for the public, he is producing 
the best part of himself ; that he is probably exhibiting 
liimself to others as much better than he is ; for whatever 
be the faults of his own character, it is his bounden duty 
to conduct his reader to the highest approach to excellence. 
Independent of his general defects, he is at least carefully 
keeping out of sight every vain thought which may have 
stolen upon him while writing, every evil temper which 
may have assailed him, every temptation to indulge too 
ardent a wish that his book may procure praise for himself, 
as well as benefit to his readers. To flatter himself inordi- 
nately on this -head, as well as in over-anticipating the 
great effects it will produce, is ncft, perhaps, the smallest 
of his dangers. That very self knowledge which he has 
perhaps been inculcating on others, would preserve him 
from an undue estimation both of himself and his book. 

It was the sneer of a witty, but discouraging satyrist, 
that, " To mend the world's a vast design." It is, indeed, 
a design from which the purity of his motive may not al- 
ways secure the humility of the author. Yet modestly to 
aim at ameliorating that little portion of it which lies with* 



OF PIOUS BOOKS, 17 

in his immediate sphere, is a duty out of which he should 
not be laughed by wits and epigrammatists. Instead of 
indulging unfounded hopes of improbable effects, the Chris- 
tian writer will be humbled at the mortifying reflection, 
what great and extensive evil the most insignificant bad 
man may effect, while so little comparative good can be 
accomplished by the best But it is to be regretted, that 
even religion is no sure protection against the intrusion of 
vanity, that it does not always secure its possesser from 
over-rating his own agency, from fondly calculating on the 
unknown benefits which, by his projected work, he is pre- 
paring for mankind. A pious Welch minister, many years 
ago, being about to publish a sermon, previously consulted 
the writer of these pages how many thousand copies he 
ought to print. He felt not a little shocked at her advi- 
sing him to reduce his thousands to hundreds ; scores she 
did not dare advise. As she had foreseen, not half a dozen 
were sold, except a few, charitably taken off his hands by 
his friends. At her return soon after, from the metropolis, 
he hastened to her with all the ardour of impatience, and 
seriously inquired, whether she had observed any material 
reformation at the court end of the town, since the publi- 
cation of his discourse. 

Among the many unsuspected but salutary checks to the 
vanity of a pious writer, it will not be the least, that his 
v ery popularity may make the intrinsic value of his work 
-questionable; — that he may be indebted for its favourable 
reception, not to its excellencies, but its defects, not to the 
deep, but to the superficial views he has taken of religion ; 
that it may be more acceptable only because it is less 
searching ; that if he has pleased, it may be owing to his 
haying been more cautious than faithful. If there is reason 
to suspect that success arises from his having skimmed the 
surface of truth, when he ought to have penetrated its 
depths, tliat he has reconciled the reader to Christianity 
and to himself by a disingenuous discretion^ by trimming 



18 ON THE WRITERS 

between God and the world, by concealing truths he ought 
to have brought forward, or by palliating those he durst 
not disavow: popularity thus obtained will afford ground 
of humiliation rather than of triumph. In avoiding these, 
and all similar errors, he will also not fail to bear in mind, 
that He who gave the talents, gave also the right bent to 
the use of them, and that, therefore, he has no more 
ground for boasting of the application than of the posses- 
sion. 

When he is called upon by the nature of his subject to 
expatiate strongly on this vice, or to point out the danger of 
that error, does he never feel a sort of conscious superiori- 
ty to certain individuals of his acquaintance, who may be 
infected with either, and, for a moment, be tempted to sit 
Tather in the seat of the scorner, than in that of the coun- 
sellor? On such occasions, there is nothing which he will 
more carefully watch, than the temper of his ow 7 n mind. 
"When duty compels him to be severe against any false opi- 
nion, or wrong practice, he will be cautious not to mix with 
liis just censure, any feeling of disdain, any sentiment of 
indignation, against any individual whom he may bear in 
mind ; nor will he indulge the unworthy wonder how such 
or such a person will be mortified at the exposure of a fault 
to which he is addicted. Nor will he harbour in his bosom 
&n uncharitable vekemence against those whom the reproof 
may suit, nor a secret self complacent certainty, that if any 
iking can do them good, this must do it ; that though they 
hear not Moses and the Prophets, they cannot but listen 
to his pointed admonitions— that they can never stand out 
against such persuasions as he has to offer — never resist 
such arguments as he has prepared for their conviction. 

But what is still a more serious danger, has he never been 
tempted to overlook his own faults w r hile he has been ex- 
posing those of others; and this, though the failing he is 
t -c learning, may be peculiarly his own? With just in- 
£gQgtiox> against the offence he is reproving, has he never 



or PIOUS EOOKS. 19 

once forgotten to mingle tender compassion for the offend- 
er, remembering, that he himself is sinful dust and ashes ; 
that he also stands in need of infinite mercy, and has been 
only rescued T?y that mercy from being on a level with the 
worst objects of his just disapprobation ? 

It would, notwithstanding, be the highest degree of un- 
fairness, to prefer a charge of injustice, hypocrisy, or even 
inconsistency, against an author, because his life, in some 
respects, falls short of the strictness of his writings. It is 
a disparity almost inseparable from this state of frail mor- 
tality. He may have fallen into errors, and yet deserve to 
have no heavier charge brought against him than he has 
brought against others. Infirmity of temper, inequality 
of mind, a heart, though fearing to offend God, yet not 
sufficiently dead to the world ; — these are the lingering ef- 
fects of sin imperfectly subdued, in a heart which yet longs, 
prays, and labours for a complete deliverance from all its 
corruptions. 

When a pious writer treats on any awful topic, he writes 
under a solemn conviction of its vast importance ; he trem- 
bles at the idea of not being entirely faithful, of not being 
valiant for the truth, of not being honestly explicit, of not 
declaring the whole counsel of God. His own heart is 
deeply impressed with the dignity of his subject, and he 
deprecates the thought of shrinking from the boldest avow 
al of every truth, or of withholding the most powerful in- 
forcement to the practice of every virtue. He is appre- 
hensive lest, on the one hand, when he assails vice or er- 
ror, he should appear to indulge a violent or vindictive 
spirit, and be magisterially lifting his fallible self into the 
chair of authority ; lest his attack on the vice might be 
construed into uncharitableness to the man. On the other 
hand, he is fearful lest by being more forbearing he should 
be less upright ; lest if he tried to soften he should deceive; 
lest, by indulging too much a spirit of conciliation, he 
should compromise truth for human favour,— Honest though 



20 01 THE WRITERS 

imperfeet, sincere though fallible, he endeavours to bring 
his principles, his faith, and his convictions, into full opera- 
tion j he warmly declares what he cordially feels, and faith- 
fully testifies what he firmly believes. 

But when he comes to act, he is sometimes brought to 
be too keenly sensible of the very fault in himself, against 
which he has beeu cautioning others ; deeply does he la- 
ment that he feels strong remains in himself of that cor- 
ruption against which it was not the less his duty to direct 
his attacks. Some temptation presses him, some infirmity 
cleaves to him. These unsubdued frailties prove that he is 
a man, but they do not prove that he is a hypocrite. The 
truth is, the religious writer is sometimes thought worse 
than other men, because his book was considered as a pledge 
that he should be better. It was expected that the faults 
he described he would avoid ; the passions he had blamed 
he would suppress ; the tempers he had exposed he would 
have subdued. Perhaps it will commonly be found that 
the reader had expected too much and the writer had done 
too little. 

The writer on religious topics is however the person who 
of all others ought to watch himself most narrowly. He 
has given a public pledge of his principles. He has held 
out a rule, to which, as others will be looking with a criti- 
cal eye to discover how far his conduct falls short of it, so 
he should himself constantly bear in mind the elevation of 
his own standard j and he will be more circumspect from 
the persuasion, that not only his own character but that of 
religion itself will suffer by his departure from it. The 
consciousness of the inferiority of his practice to his prin- 
ciples, if those principles are truly scriptural, will furnish 
him with new motives to humility. The solemn dread lest 
this inconsistency should be produced against him at the last 
day, is a fresh incentive to higher exertions, stirs him up to 
augmented vigilance, quickens him to more intense prayer. 
He experiences at once the contradictory feeling of dread- 



OF PIOUS BOOKS, 21 

ihg to appear better than he really is, by the high tone of 
piety in his compositions, or of making others worse by 
lowering that tone in order to bring his professions nearer 
to the level of his life. Perhaps the most humiliating mo- 
ment he can ever experience is, when by an accidental 
glance at some former work he is reminded how little he 
himself has profited by the very arguments with which he 
may have successfully combated some error of the reader ; 
when he feels how inuch his own heart is still under the do- 
minion of that wrong temper of which he has forcibly ex- 
posed the turpitude to the conviction of others. 

There is, however, no personal reason which could 
ever justify his holding out an inferior standard. If there 
is any point in which he eminently excels, he has the 
best of all possible reasons for pressing it upon others— his 
own experience of its excellence. If there be any in which 
he unhappily fails, he is clearly justified in recommending 
it from the humbling sense of his own deficiency in it. Thus 
he will in either case inforce truth with equal energy, from 
causes diametrically opposite. Is it not then obvious that 
as there is no vanity in insisting on a virtue because the 
writer possesses it, so there is no hypocrisy in recommen- 
ding a quality because he himself is destitute of it? 

But if, through the so frequently {alleged imperfection 
attached to humanity, Christian writers do not always at- 
tain to the excellence they suggest, let us not therefore in- 
fer that their principles ^ire defective, their aims low, or 
their practical attainments mean. Let ns not suspect that 
it is not the endeavour of their life, as much as the desire 
of their heart, to maintain a conduct which shall not dis- 
credit their profession. Above all, let us be cautious of 
concluding that they do not believe what they teach, be- 
cause they have passions like other men ; provided we ob- 
serve them struggling with those passions, and making a 
progress in their conquest over them, though that progress 
oe impeded by natural infirmity, though it be obstructed 



23 ON THE WRITERS 

by occasional irritation. The triumphant detector of the 
discordance between the author and his book kno\V3 not 
the secret regrets, hears not the fervent prayers, witnesses 
not the penitential sorrows, which a deep sense of this dis- 
agreement produces in the self-abasing heart. To instance 
in a familiar case :•— In the heat of conversation with the 
author, he has probably marked an impatient word, a hasty 
expression, a rash judgment ; these he treasures up, and 
produces against him ; but he does not hear, in the writer's 
nightly review of the errors of that day, his self-rebuke for 
this unsubdued impetuosity, his resolutions against it, the 
earnest prayer, which perhaps at this moment is carrying 
forward the gradual subjugation of his temper. 

Yet his reputation might suffer in another way ; for if 
the critic could hear these humbling confessions of the 
writers in question, he would be ready to conclude that 
they were " Sinners above all the Galileans." Whereas 
the truth most probably is, that they are so alive to the 
perception of the evil of their own hearts, that things which 
would be slight faults in the estimation of the accuser, to 
them appear grave offences. Things which they lament 
as evils of magnitude, would to the less tender conscience 
be impalpable, imperceptible. For instance, — While the 
caviller would call even the omission of prayer a venial 
fault ; tkey would call a heartless prayer a sin ; where the 
one would think all was well if the literal performance 
had not been neglected, the other would be uneasy under 
the exterior observance, if he felt that the spirit had not 
accompanied the form. The reprover might even accuse 
the serious Christian of absurdity, should he have overheard 
him humbling himself for something which was obviously 
a virtue. He was not, however, so preposterously humble, 
as to make the virtue the ground of his regret — he was j 
abasing fyimself for some vanity, whioh like an excrescence 
had grown out of it, some inattention which like a poison 
had mixed with it. When a humble man meditates on 



OF PIOUS BOOKS, 23 

j his vices, and an irreligious man on his virtues, the vices 
of the one might be sometimes deemed about as unsubstan- 
tial as the virtues of the other actually are. 

The writer of good books, in common with other au- 
thors, is exposed to one danger from which other men are 
more exempt, that of being so immediately the object of 
his own attention. This may lead him to be too full of 
himself. His intellect is even more constantly before his 
I eyes than the form and face of the beauty are before her's. 
I But if in this exercise he may be tempted to think too 
I' well of his understanding, the mischief will be counteracted 
I by the advantage which such a close view may bring to 
I his heart. The faults he reprehends in general, will bring 
I his own faults more forcibly before him, and it will be a 
| humbling consideration which he will not fail to press 
f home on himself, to reflect, that he is better able to pene- 
I trate into the recesses of the erring hearts of others, from 
& the sympathies of his own. Repeated and successful pains 
M have been taken by some popular wits*, in whom levity 
V has answered the end of malice, to lower the value of pious 
instruction, by exposing the discrepancy between the ex- 
:■}■ hortation and the exhorter. They have ingeniously in- 
I vented cases and situations in which the clergyman is prea. 
E ching powerfully and efficaciously on the duty of submis- 
sion to the divine will; immediately after which, they 
contrive to betray him into a paroxysm of overwhelming 
impatience at some great domestic calamity of his own. 
I This, as it tends to make the infirmity of sincere Christians 
I a matter of triumph, could only have been done with a view 
I to make them ridiculous ; a laugh is cheaply though not 
I very honourably raised, and the insignificance or hollow- 
I ness of religious instruction perhaps indelibly stamped or 
W the mind of the young reader. But supposing the circum- 
■ stances to have been real, ought the frail affections, ought 
* the conscious infirmity of these good men to have led 

I ******* 



24 ON THE WRITERS 

them to withhold from their audiences the necessity of 
Christian resignation? Such instances of natural feeling 
in certain stages of a progressive piety, neither prove re- 
ligion to be powerless, nor its professor deceitful. Was 
the fervent, but fallible apostle, who in a moment of infir- 
mity denied his master, a hypocrite, when he said, 
" though all the world should be offended, yet will not I ?" 

Yet is this captious spirit an additional reason why the 
pious writer should guard against excesses in feeling, 
which, if the reader could witness, he would exultingly 
reiterate the vulgar but melancholy truism— How much 
easier it is to preach tkan to practise! How gladly 
would he have brought the conduct to confront the coun- 
sel, and have missed all the benefit of the discourse, by the 
disclosure of the failing ! 

But allowing the worst— granting that the writer is not 
in all points exemplary ; if we resolve never to read a, 
work of instruction because the author had faults, Lord 
Bacon's inexhaustible mine of intellectual wealth might 
have still lain unexplored. Luther, the»man to whom the 
Protestant world owes more than to any other uninspired 
being, might remain unread, because he is said to have 
wanted the meekness of Melancthon, Even the divine in- 
structions conveyed in the book of Ecclesiastes would have 
been written in vain. 

It is not necessary that the writer under consideration 
should, like the sacred penmen, criminate himself. Their 
ingenuous self-abasement added weight to the truth of 
their general testimony, and was doubtless directed by the 
holy spirit, as well for this purpose, as for the humiliation 
of the offending historian. But above all it is calculated 
to shew that the renovation of hearts so imperfect was the 
work of the spirit of God. 

Though the pious writer in these days is not called upon 
to exercise this self-disparaging egotism, yet let not bis 
silence on this head be attributed to a desire that he may 



OF PIOUS BOO* 

be thought abetter man than Moses, wh iy per- 

petuated the memory of that offence which was an inhibit 
tion to his entering the land of promise— nor than David,' 
the recorder of his own sins, the enormity of which could 
only be exceeded by the intensity of his repentance.— tic: 
than Saint Paul, who published himself to ha>e been a 
blasphemer and a persecutor. — If the best men among us 
have, through the preventing grace of God, been preserv- 
ed from the signal offences of Prophets ana Apostles, they 
will themselves be the foremost to acknowledge how, beyond 
all comparison, they are below them, in that devotedness 
of spirit, that contempt of earthly things, and that anni- 
hilation of self, which so eminently characterised those in- 
spired Servants of God. 

But suppose we were to go farther — even if it could be 
proved that some individual charge had not been altogether 
unfounded. Even this possible evil in the man, would not 
invalidate the truths he has been teaching. Balaam 
though a bad man prophesied truly. Erasmus, whose pie- 
ty is almost as doubtful, as his wit and learning were un- 
questionable, yet by throwing both into the right scale., 
was a valuable instrument in effecting the great 'work in 
which he was concerned. Erasmus powerfully assisted the 
reformation, though it is not quite so clear that the 
mation essentially benefited Erasmus, 

If then the writer advances unanswerable arg 
the cause of truth, if he impressively enforces : 
importance, his character, even if defective, should not in- 
validate his reasoning. Though we allow that even to 

the reader it is far more Sat hen the life 

- 

(rates the writing, yet we must never bring the conduct o; 
the man as any infallible test of the truth of his doctrine. 
Allow this, and the reverse o\ the proposition will be plead- 
ed against us. Take the opposite case. Do we ever pro- 
duce certain moral qualities which Hobbes, Bayte, Hume, 
*n$ other sober sceptics possessed, as arguments for 



26 ON THE WRITERS 

iiig tlieir opinions ? Do we infer as a necessary consequent^ 
that their sentiments are sound because their lives were 
Hot flagitious ? 

But though it is an awful possibility, that the same work 
may at once promote God's glory and prove a danger to 
the instrument that promotes it— that the opulence of the 
very mind which is advancing religion, may be used by the 
owner to his hurt — that he may be so absorbed in it as a 
business, that he may lose sight of his end — that he may 
neglect personal, while he is advancing public religion — 
or be so anxious for the success of his work, that he 
cannot commit the event to heaven : let us thankfully 
profit by the truths he teaches ; bless God that he has been 
useful to us ; and pray that his errors may not be imputed 
to him. 

Many a sincere Christian will confess that when he is 
writing in an animated strain in the cause of religion, there 
are moments in which, from imbecility of mind or infirmity 
o( body, or failure of animal spirits, while he is promoting 
the spiritual interests of others, he is inwardly lamenting 
his own deadness to the very things on which he is insist- 
ing. He however perseveres ; like the army of Gideon, 
" faint yet pursuing," he suffers not the feeling to obstruct 
the act, till, as a reward for his perseverance, the act 
brings back the feeling. ."Were it suspected that some of 
his most approved pages were written under this declen- 
sion of zeal, what a clamour would be raised against bis 
inconsistency, when his merit — if we dare use the word 
merit—consists in overcoming the languor of his spirit, and 
in acting as if he felt it not. His depression may in fact 
have been augmented by his humility. He has trembled 
lest the solemnity with which he has been calling upon 
others, should not stir up his own feelings; lest the 
arguments which were intended to alarm the reader, 
should leave his own heart cold and unaffected. 

While it is of the nature of scientific principles to aiapt 



O? PIOUS BOOKS. 27 

themselves only to one particular bent of mind, and of the 
inventive powers to address persons of imagination only: 
it is the character of Christianity, and should be the aim of 
the Christian writer, to accommodate their instructions to 
every class of society, to every degree of intellect, to every 
quality of mind, to every cast of temper. Christianity 
ooesnot interfere with any particular form of study, any 
political propensity, any professional engagement, any 
legitimate pursuit. It claims to incorporate itself with 
the ideas of every intelligent mind which lies open to re- 
ceive it ; it infuses itself, when not repelled, into the 
character of every individual, as it originally assimilated 
itself to that of every Government, without sacrificing 
any thing of its specific quality, without requiring any 
mind of a peculiar make for its reception. 
1 Without altering its properties by any infusions of his 
own, a judicious writer will always consider how he may 
render it most acceptable to the capacity of the genera! 
ient. To exclude reason from religion, ho knows is 
;he way to attract argumentative men to inquire into 
its truth; — to exclude elegance from its exhibition, is not the 
probable method to invite men of taste to speculate on its 
beauty* If however the writer possess little of the graces 
which embellish truth, if lie cannot adorn it with those 
charms which, though they add nothing to its lustre, yet 
attract to its contemplation ; still plain sense and unaf- 
fected piety may contribute to the production of a work 
which may prove useful to a large and valuable proportion 
of readers. But here if genius is not essential, good taste 
is never to be dispensed with. A sound judgment will be 
requisite to prevent piety from being repulsive t© readers 
wno have been accustomed to view other intellectual sub* 
jects exhibited in all the proprieties of which they are 
severally susceptible. Let them not see a subject of this 
transcendent importance, injured by any debasing mixture* 
disfigured by any coarseness of language, nor degraded by 
any vulgar associations. 



On the other hand, while some object so strenuously 
against the introduction of the affections into religion, what 
are we to understand from it, but that in the opinion of 
the objectors, a man will write the better because^he doe? 
not feel his subject,— that he will teach religion more safe- 
ly to others, from not having felt its influence on his own 
heart, — that he will make a deeper impression by writing 
from books than from himself, or rather that making an 
impression at ail is a dangerous thing, — that it is of the 
nature of enthusiasm, proceeding from it, and productive 
of it I — that therefore it is better that the reader should 
not be impressed, but only informed. 

But the sound aed sober Christian takes the best pre- 
caution against infusing a fanatical spirit by not possessing 
it. He cannot communicate the distemper of which he is 
not sick. He cautiously avoids it on a double ground. 
He knows that enthusiasm and superstition are not only 
mischievous in their nature, but that they furnish the pro- 
fane with a plausible argument against religion itself. He 
remembers, and applies the observation, that to some Pa- 
^an poets, especially Lucretius, these errors supplied 
Atheism with her most powerful arms. But though he al- 
lows that enthusiasm is dangerous, he continues to write 
like one who knows that it is not the exclusive danger of 
the age ; like one who is convinced that phrenzy is not 
the only distemper in our spiritual bills of mortality : like 
one whose heart is warmed, not by animal pulsation, but 
by those quickening oracles of truth which carry in them 
" the demonstration of the spirit and of power ;" like one 
who feels that religion is not a misleading tire, but an ani- 
mating principle which at once enlarges his views, elevates 
his aims, and ennobles his character. 

But to return to the reader. — If^e had no higher reason- 
to aim at improvement in piety, one would almost think 
that the mere feelings of gratitude and good-nature might 
tempt us to shew our affection to our pious benefactors, by 



I OF PIOUS BOOKS. £9 

profiting from their exhortations, their counsels, their 
persuasions. It might almost touch a heart dead to su- 
perior considerations, to reflect how many departed wor- 
have wasted their strength, as to us, in vain. Among 
the witnesses who will appear against us in the great day 
of account, they will stand the foremost, , Let us tremble 
as we figure to ourselves our unwilling accusers in that 
band of holy men, who earnestly sought to draw us, not 
to themselves, but-to those treasures of inspiration, of 
which they were the faithful expositors ; to the Prophets 
and Apostles, — " to Jesus the mediator of the new cove- 
nant, and to God the judge of all." 

And is it not a cruel return to refuse those who still 
Eeeekly wait the effect of their labours upon earth, the ho- 
Best gratification of seeing that we have derived some little 
advantage from their exertions ? Let us shew them that 
ihej have not offered up the fervent prayers which doubt- 
rcompanied their unwearied labours to no end. While 
so many saints are now rejoicing in heaven, in the society 
of those whom their holy labours were made instrumental 
in bringing thither; let us not give those who are still 
zealously devoting their talents to the same glorious pur- 
pose upon earth, sad cause to lament the total inefficacy of 
"heir endeavours — to regret that they are sent to them who 
«ill not hear, or who remain as if they had not heard — to 
suspect that if we do give them a patient hearing, it is for 
the sake of their style, their rhetoric, their good taste ; but 
that when their eloquence opposes our corruptions, when 
their arguments cross our inclinations, when their persua- 
sions trench upon our passions, or their remonstrances in- 
terfere with our vanity, we are insensible to the voice of 
the charmer ; or if we forgive their piety for the sake of 
taeir talents ; we seMois go further than forgiveness. 



C 2 



( &Q ) 

CHAP. IL 

ON PROVIDED 

It is not easy zo conceive a more deplorable state of. mind, 
than to live in a disbelief of God's providential government 
of the world. To be threatened with troubles, and to see 
no power which can avert them ; to be surrounded with 
Sorrows, and discern no hand wjiick can redress them ; to 
labour under oppression or calumny, and believe there is 
no friend to relieve, and no judge to vindicate us ; to live in 
a world, of which we believe its ruler has abdicated the 
throne, or delegated the direction to chance ; to suspect 
that he has made over the triumph to injustice, and the vic- 
tory to impiety ; to suppose that we are abandoned to the 
casualties of nature, and the domination of wickedness ; to 
behold the earth a scene of disorder, with no superintend- 
ent to regulate it ; to hear the storms beating, and see the 
tempests spreading desolation around, with no influence to 
direct, and no wisdom to control them: all this would 
render human life a burden intolerable to human feeling. 
Even a heathen, in one of those glimpses of illumination 
which they seemed occasionally to catch, could say, it 
would not be worth while to live in a world which was not 
governed by Providence. 

But, as soon as w r e clearly discern the mirid which ap- 
points, and the hand which governs, all events, we begin 
to see our way through them : as soon as we are brought 
to recognise God's authority, and to confide in his good- 
ness, we can say to our unruly hearts, what he said to the 
tempestuous waves, Peace, be still. Though all is perplex- 
ity, we know who can reduce confusion into order ; once 
assured of the protection of the Supreme Intelligence, we 
shall possess our souls in patience, and resign oar will with 



ON PROVIDENCE. 

we become persuaded that a being of infinite love would 
never have placed us in a scene beset with so many trials, 
and exposed to so many dangers, had he not intended them 
as necessary materials by which, under his guidance, we 
i&re to work out our future happiness ; — as so many warn- 
ings not to set up our rest here; — as so many incentives to 
draw us on in pursuit of that better state to which eternal 
mercy is conducting us through this thorny way. 

To keep God habitually in view, as the end of all our 
aims, and the disposer of all events — to see him in all our 
comforts, to admire the benignity with which he imparts 
—to adore the same substantial, though less obvious 
mercy, in our afflictions — to acknowledge at once the un* 
niess with which he dispenses our trials, and the ne- 
cessity of our suffering them— to view him in his bounties 
of creation, with a love which makes every creature pleas- 
ant — to regard him in his providential direction with a con- 
fidence which makes every hardship supportable — to observe 
ibserviency of events to his eternal purposes : all this 
solves difficulties otherwise insuperable, vindicates the di- 
vine conduct, composes the intractable passions, settles the 
wavering faith, and quickens the too reluctant gratitude. 
The fabled charioteer, who usurped his father's empire 
is not more illustrative of their presumption, who, 
ally snatching the reins of government from God, 
would involve the earth in confusion and ruin, than the 
zh the ambitious supplicant received to his mad 
request, is applicable to the goodness of God in refusing to 
ate his power to his creatures: My son, the very ten* 
demess I shew in denying so ruinous a petition, is the surcz>: 
proof that I am indeed thy father. 

Sounds to which we are accustomed, we fancy have a 
definite sense. But we often fancy it unjustly ; for famili- 
arity alone cannot give meaning to what is in itself unin- 
Thus many words, without any determinate 
>n discourse 



§2 on providence:. 

Some talk of those chimerical beings, nature, fate, chance, 
and necessity, as positively as if they had a real existence, 
and of almighty power and direction as jf they had none. 

In speakmg of ordinary events as fortuitous, or as natu- 
ral, we dispossess Providence of one half of his dominion. 
We assign to him the credit of great and avowedly super- 
natural operations, because we know not how else to dis- 
pose of them. For instance: — We ascribe to him. power 
and wisdom in the creation of the would, while we talk as 
if we thought the keeping it in order might be effected by 
an inferior agency. We sometimes speak as if we assigned 
the government of the world to two distinct beings : what- 
ever is awful only, and out of the common course, we as- 
cribe to God, as revolutions, volcanoes, earthquakes. We 
think the dial of Ahaz going backward, the sun stationary 
on Gibeon, marvels worthy of Omnipotence : but whea 
we stop here, is it not virtually saying, that to maintain 
invariable order, unbroken regularity, perpetual uniformi- 
ty, and systematic beauty in the heavens and the earth, 
does not exhibit equally striking proofs of infinite superin- 
tendence. 

Many seem to ascribe to chance the common circum- 
stances of life, as if they thought it would be an affront to 
the Almighty to refer them to him ; as if it were unbecom- 
. ing his dignity to order the affairs of beings whom he 
thought it no derogation of that dignify to create. It 
looks as if, while we Were obliged to kirn for making us, 
we would not wish to encumber him with the care of us. 
But the gracious Father of the universal family thinks it 
no dishonour to watch over the concerns, to supply the 
wants, and dispose the lot of creatures who owe their 
existence to his power, and their redemption to his mercy. 
He did not create his rational subjects in order to neglect 
them, or to turn them over to another, a capriciouii, an 
imaginary power. 

We do m>t ? it is true, so much arraign his genera! r 



ON PROVIBENCE. 33 

Q50C5, as his particular appointments. We will allow the 
world to be nominally his, if he will allow us our opinion 
in respect to his management of certain parts of it. Now, 
that he should not put forth the same specific energy indi- 
vidually to direct as to create, is supposing an anomaly in 
the character of the all-perfect God. Whatever was his 
design in the formation of the world, and its inhabitants, 
the same reason would, beyond a doubt, influence him in 
their superintendence and preservation. David, in des* 
ig the simple grandeur of omnipotent benignity, sets 
as a beautiful pattern. He does not represent the%elief 
of God's providential care as an effort, but describes our 
continual sustenance as the necessary unlaboured effect of 
infinite power and goodness. He openeth his hand, and 
fJletk all things living with plenteonsness ; thus making 
our blessings rather, as it were, a result, than an opera- 
tion. 

And as We are not under the divided control of a great- 
er and a subordinate power, so neither are we, as the Per- 
sian mythology teaches, the subjects of two equal beings, 
each of whom distributes respectively good and evil accord- 
ing to his peculiar character and province. Nor are We 
the sport of the conflicting atoms of one school, nor of the 
fatal necessity of another. There is one omnipotent, om- 
niscient, perfect, supreme Intelligence, who disposes of 
every person and of every thing according to the counsel 
of his own infinitely holy will. " The help that is done 
ypon earth, God doth it himself.*' The comprehensive 
mind, enlightened by Christian faith, discovers the same 
harmony and design in the course of human events, as the 
philosopher perceives in the movements of the material 
system. 

Without a thorough conviction of this most consolatory 
doctrine, what can we make of the events which are now 
passing before our eyes ? What can we say to the perplex- 
ed state of an almost desolated world ? There is no way of 



OH PROVIDE NCE. 

ilisentangling the confusion but by seeing God in every 
thing.— Not to adore his Providence as having some grand 
scheme which he is carrying on, some remote beneficial end 
In view, some unrevealed design to accomplish, by means 
not only inscrutable but seemingly contradictory, is practi- 
cal atheism. To contemplate the events which distract the 
civilized world, the tyranny which tears up order and mo- 
rality by the roots; to behold the calamities of some, the 
crimes of others — such blackness gathering over the heads 
of some countries, such tempests bursting over those of 
others — these scenes must subvert the faith, must extin- 
guish the hope, of all who do not firmly believe that the 
same power which " stilleth the raging of the sea and the 
noise of the waves," can in his own good time also still the 
madness of the people ; will in his appointed season enable 
us to say, " And where is the fury of the oppressor ?" He 
may, and we know not how soon, enable us to ask ? " Where 
is the man that made the earth to tremble — that did shake 
kingdoms — that made the world as a wilderness — that de- 
stroyed the cities thereof— that opened not the hoi 
his prisoners?'* Yes — disorganized as the state of the 
world appears to be, let us be assured that it is not turned 
adrift, that things are not left to go on at random. Though 
the people are rebellious, the Sovereign has not renounced 
his dominion over them. The most oppressive and destruc- 
tive agents are his mysterious ministers ; they are carrying 
on, though unconsciously, his universal plan — a plan, 
which though complicated is consistent ; though apparently 
disorderly will be found finally harmonious. 

In some pieces of mechanism we have observed different 
artists employed in different branches of the same ma- 
chinery : in this division of labour, each man performs his 
Allotted portion, in utter ignorance perhaps, not only of the 
portions assigned to the others, but also of the ultimate ap- 
plication of his own. Busy in executing his single pin, or 
Spring, or wheel, it is no part of his concern to understand 



OS PROVIDENCE. .55 

the work assigned to others, still less to comprehend the 
scheme of the master. But though the workman is igno- 
rant how the whole is to be arranged, the machine woulet 
have been incomplete without his seemingly inconsider- 
able contribution. In the mean time the master unites, 
by apt junctures and articulations, parts which were not 
known to be susceptible of connection ; combines the sepa- 
rate divisions without difficulty, because the several work- 
men have only been individually helping to accomplish the 
original plan which had previously existed in his inventive 
mind. 

The prescience of God is among his peculiarly incom- 
municable attributes. Happy is it for us indeed that it is 
Incommunicable, for if any portion of it were imparted to 
us, how inconceivably would the distress of human life be 
aggravated ! But if we allow his omniscience, we cannot 
doubt his Providence. He would not foresee contingen- 
cies, for w T hich he could not provide. His attributes are 
in fact so interwoven that it is impossible to separate them. 
His omniscience foresees, his understanding, which is in- 
finite, arranges, his sovereignty decrees, his omnipotence 
executes the purposes of his will. — His wisdom may see 
• some things to be best for awhile to answer certain tempo- 
rary purposes, which would not be good for a continuance* 
When the present appointment shall have answered the 
end to which it was determined, a new one, to which that 
was preparatory, takes place. The two arrangements 
may appear to us not to be of a piece, to be even contra- 
dictory ; while yet this determination and this succession 
are perfectly consistent in the mind of a being w T ho sees all 
things at once, and " calls things that are not as though 
they were." God's view of all men and all events through- 
out all ages, is one clear, distinct, quick, simultaneous 
view. Infinite knowledge takes in present, past, and fu- 
ture in one comprehensive survey, pierces through all dis- 
tance at a glance, and collects all ages, into the foeu=. of 
the existing moment, 



36 ON PROVIDENCE^ 

Once thoroughly grounded and established in this faith 
and sense of the Divine perfections, we shall never look 
upon any thing to be so monstrous or so minute, so insig- 
nificant or so exorbitant, as to be out of the precincts and 
control of eternal Providence. We shall never reduce^ 
if the allusion may be forgiven, the powers of omnipotence 
to a level with that of some Indian Rajah who has a ter- 
ritory too unwieldy for his management, or of an Emperor 
of China who has more subjects than one monarch can 
govern. 

We ask why evil rulers are permitted ? — We answer,, 
though rather mechanically, our own question, by acknow- 
ledging that they are the appointed scourges of divine dis- 
pleasure. Yet God does not delegate his authority to the 
oppressor, though he employs him as his instrument of cor- 
rection , he still keeps the reins in his own hand. And be- 
sides that an citending world stood in need of the chastise- 
ment, these black instruments who are thus allowed to 
ravage the earth, may be, in the scheme of Providence, un- 
intentionally preparing the elements of moral beauty. 
When Divine displeasure has made barren a fruitful land 
il for the wickedness of them that dwell therein,'' the 
ploughshare and the harrow, which are sent to tear up the 
unproductive soil, know not" that they are providing for 
the hand of the sower, who is following their rude i 
in order to scatter the seeds of future riches and fertility. 

Or take the conflagration of a town. — They v 
houses are burnt are objects of our tenderest commiseration ■. 
The scene, if we beheld It, would alike excite our terror 
and our pity. But, after we have mourned over the de- 
vastation, and seen that despair is fruitless, at leng 
eessity impels to industry; — we see a new and fairer order 
of things arise ; the convenience, symmetry, and beauty 
which spring out of the ashes make us eventually not only 
cease to regret the deformity and unsightliness to v 
they have succeeded, but almost reconcile us to tfce ea 
ty which has led to the improvers? 



ON PROVIDENCE. 3? 

Often have the earthquake, the hurricane, the bolt of 
heaven, kindling and throwing far and wide its baleful 
light en this earthly stage, realized in their ultimate effects 
this image. And we are reminded of a future, general 
conflagration, " w r hen the elements shall melt with fervent 
heat, and the earth itself shall be burned up," which is to 
prove only the signal and the preparatory scene for a new 
heaven and a new earth wherein dwelleth righteousness. 
Let us, in every stage leading to this final " restitution of 
all things," wait with patience for its sure completion. 
Let us, in the mean time', give credit to the great Author 
of the book of Fate for the consistency of its catastrophe ! 

When we peruse the compositions of a human author, 
we look for unity and consistency in his whole plan ; we 
expect connection and relation between its several parts, 
and an entireness in the general combination. We are 
not so much delighted with a fine passage incidentally in- 
troduced, a short episode, of which w« discern at once -the 
rise and the end, and take in all the incidents and beauties 
at a single glance, as we are w T ith the judgment which dis- 
covers itself in the distribution of the whole work, and the 
skill, not without difficulty discerned, which arranges, con- 
nects, and, as it were, links together the several divisions, 
Yet do we not sometimes presume to insinuate as if the 
great Author of all created nature cannot reduce the 
complexity of its parts into one consistent whole ? Do 
we not intimate objections as if there were no concert, no 
agreement in the works of the Almighty mind ? Do not 
the same persons who can speak in raptures of a perfect 
poem, a perfect scheme of reasoning, a perfect plan in 
architecture, yet presume to suspect that the concerns of 
the universe are carried on with less system, and on a more 
imperfect design, than the rude sketches of a frail creature, 
who is crushed before the moth ? 

But if we go so far as to leave to God the direction of 
the natural world, because we know not well, after all, to 

3> 



S3 ON PROVIDENCE, 

whom else to commit its management, yet we frequently 
make little scruple to take the government of the moral 
world into our own hands. If we consent to his ruling 
matter, we reluctantly allow r that he governs mind. We 
reason as if we suspected that the passions of men lay be- 
yond his control, und that their vices have overturned 
his dominion. But we should practically call to mind 
what is the daily language of our lips, not only that His 
is "the kingdom,'* but that the "power" is the source, 
and " the glory" the result of his administration. He 
does not, it is true, by an arbitrary compulsion of men's 
• minds, rob them of that freedom by which they offend him, 
nor by a force on their liberty, prevent those sins and fol- 
lies which, if he arbitrarily hindered, he would convert 
rational beings into mechanical ones ; but he turns their 
sins and follies to such uses, that while by the voluntary 
commission of them they are bringing down destruction on 
their own heads, they are not impeding his purposes. 

Nor dees Providence, in his wide arrangements, exclude 
the operation of subordinate causes and motives, but al- 
lows them to assist the greater, and thereby to work hk 
will ; as subalterns in the battle contribute severally their 
share to the victory, while, like those inferior causes, they 
are compelled to keep their ranks, and not to aspire to the 
command. As we have a higher end, we must have a 
supreme direction to our aims. Yet a lower end is some- 
times made a means to a higher, and assists its object with- 
out usurping its place. Some who begin by abstaining 
from evil, or set about doing good from a principle not en- 
tirely pure, are graciously led to the principle by doing or 
forbearing the action ; and are finally landed at the higher 
point, from beginnings far below those at which we might 
rashly have asserted they could only set out with any hope 
of success. 

Though this may not very frequently occur,' yet as it is 
by means God works, rather than by miracles : and as the 



ON PROVIDENCE. 39 

world does not overflow with real piety, what a chaos 
would this earth become, if God did not permit inferior 
motives to operate to a certain degree for the general 
good ! Many, whom the utmost stretch of charity can- 
not induce us to believe that they are acting from the 
purest principles, are yet contributing to the comfort ?.nd 
good order of society. Though they are sober only from 
a regard to their health, yet their temperance affords a 
good example ; though they are prudent from no higher 
motive than the love of money, yet their frugality keeps 
them within the same bounds as if they were influenced by 
a better motive ; though they may be liberal only to raise 
their reputation, yet their liberality feeds the hungry ; 
though they are public-spirited merely from ambition, yet 
their patriotism, by rousing the spirit of the country, saves 
it. If such right actions, performed from such low mo- 
tives, can look for no future retribution ;— if, being done 
without reference to the highest end y they do not advance 
the eternal interests of the doer, nor the glory of God, 
they are yet his instruments for promoting the good of 
others, both by utility and example. On this ground we 
may be thankful that there is so much refinement, gener- 
osity and politeness among the higher orders of society, 
while we confess that, tear away the action from its mo- 
five, sunder the virtue from its legitimate reference, the 
act and the virtue lose their present character and their 
ultimate reward. 

The means by which an infinitely wise God often pro- 
motes the most important plans, are apt illustrations of the 
blindness and obliquity of man's judgement. May we be 
allowed to offer an instance or two, in which human wis- 
dom would probably have taken a course, in the appoint- 
ment of instruments and events, directly opposite to that 
pursued by infinite wisdom ? What earthly judge, if he had 
been questioned as to the means likely to produce one of 






40 ON PROVIDENCE, 

the strongest evidences of the truth of Christianity to un- 
. believers, but would have named an agreement between. 
Jews and Christians, as its fullest corroboration ? If we 
ourselves had an important cause depending — for instance, 
the ascertaining our right to a litigated estate ; — If the 
success of the trial depended on the testimony of the wit- 
nesses, and on. the authenticity of our title-deeds, whose 
testimony should we endeavour to obtain ; into whose hands 
should we wish our vouchers to be committed? According 
to all human prudence should we not desire witnesses who 
* had no known hostility to us ; should we not object to a 
jury of avowed enemies ; and should we not refuse to lodge 
our records in the hands of our opponents ? 

But His wisdom, in whose sight ours is folly, has seen 
fit to make one of the most striking proofs of the truth of 
Christianity depend on the living miracle of the enmity 
of the Jews; "to them also were committed the&racles 
of God, " so that to both their ancient testimony ana their 
present opposition we are to look for the most striking 
proofs of a religion which they behold with perpetual hatred. 
And now that Christianity is actually made to stand upon 
such evidence, what test can be more satisfactory ? Reason 
itself owns its validity ; for what collusion can now be char- 
ged upon the concurrent witnesses to Christianity, when 
each party in court is decidedly at variance with the oth- 
er ? Who can rationally question the strength of that title 
which is contained in their geniune archives — that evi- 
dence resulting from their hereditary denial of facts, of 
which they persist to reverence the predictions ? Where 
can we more confidently look lor the truth of a religion 
they detest, than to the verification conferred en it by their 
original history, their irreversible antipathy, their actual 
condition, and existing character ? 

To venture another specimen. If we had persumed to 
point out instruments for the destruction of Jerusalem, 
we should probably have thought none so appropriate as 
Constantine ? we might have supposed the first Christian 



ON PROVIDENCE. 41 

emperor would have been the fittest avenger of the Redee- 
mer's blood. Omniscience selected for the awful retribu- 
tion a pagan prince, a virtuous one it is true, but one who 
seemed to have no personal interest in the business cue to 
whom Jews and Christians, as such, were alike, inditi ere nt* 
While this utter desolation was the obvious accomplishment 
of a prophecy, which was to be a lasting evidence of the 
truth of our religion, the choice of the destroyer was one of 
those " secret things which belong to God, " and is only to 
be alleged as a proof that " his ways are not our ways." 

We will advert to another event, the most important 
since the incarnation of him whose pure worship it has re- 
stored—the Reformation. This occurrence is a peculiarly 
striking instance of our ignorance of the operations of 
supreme wisdom, and of the means which, to our short 
right, seem fit or unfit for the accomplishment of his pur- 
poses. If ever the hand of Providence was conspicuous as 
the meridian sun, it was so in this mighty work — it was so 
in the selection of apparently discordant instruments — it 
was so, in over-ruling the designs of some, to a purpose op- 
posite to their intention, in making the errors of others 
contribute to the general end. If this grand scheme had 
been exposed to our review for advice, if we had been con- 
sulted in its formation and its progress, how should we 
have criticized both the plan and its conductors? How 
should we have censured some of the agents as inadequate, 
condemned others as ill chosen, rejected one' as unsuited, 
another as injurious! One critic would have insisted that the 
vehemence of Luther would mar any enterprize it might 
mean to advance ; that so impetuous a projector would 
inevitably obstruct the establishment of a religion of meek- 
Another would have pronounced, that among t'ne 
humaj| faculties, wit was, of all others, the least likely to 
assiifc the cause of piety ; yet did Erasmus, by his exquisite 
i on the ignorance and superstition of the priests, as 
3 I i her ; by his no&g* 



42 ON PROVIDENCE. 

nanimity and heroic perseverance, triumphantly overturned 
the other. This inconsiderate, blustering Henry, the hu- 
man counsellor would have said, will ruin the cause, by 
uniting his hostility to the reformers, with his inconsistent 
resistance to the papal power j and yet this cause, his very 
perverseness contributed to promote. Another censor 
would have been quite certain that the thnid policy and 
cautious feeling of Charles the Wise would infallibly ob- 
struct those measures which they were actually tending to 
adduce. Who among us, if his opinion had been asked, 
would not have fixed on the Pontiff of Home and the Em- 
peror of the Turks, as the two last human beings to be se- 
lected for promoting the reformed religion ? Who would 
have ventured to assert that the money raised by indulgen- 
ces, through the profligate venality of Leo, for building 
St. Peter's in his own metropolis, was actually laying the 
foundation of every Protestant church, in Britain — in 
Europe — in the world ? Who could have predicted, that 
the Imperial Mussulman, in banishing learning from his 
dominions, was preparing, as if by concert, an overwhelm- 
ing antagonist to the sottish ignorance of the Monks ? All 
these things, separately considered, we, in our captious wis- 
dom, should have pronounced calculated to produce effects 
directly contrary to the actual result; yet these ingre- 
dients, which had no natural affinity, amalgamated by the 
Almighty hand, were made to accomplish one .of the most 
important works that infinite wisdom, working by human 
means, has ever effected. 



PRACTICAL USES, &C. 4-3 

CHAP. III. 

PRACTICAL USES OF THE DOCTRINE OF PROVIDENCE. 

We do not sufficiently make the doctrine of Providence 
a practical doctrine. — That the present dark dispensations 
which afflict the earth are indications of Almighty displea- 
sure few dispute ; but having admitted the general fact, 
who almost does not ascribe the cause of offence to others I 
How few consider themselves as awfully contributing to 
draw down the visitation ! We look with an exclusive eye 
to the abandoned and the avowedly profligate, and ascribe 
the whole weight of the divine indignation to their mis- 
deeds But we forget that, when a sudden tempest threat- 
ened destruction to the ship going to Tarshish, in which 
there was only Jonah who feared God, those who inquired 
into the cause of the storm, found him to be the very man. 
The cause of the present desolating storm, as a pious divine 
observed of that which darkened his day, may as probably 
be the offences of professing Christians, as the presumptuous 
sins of the bolder transgressor. This apprehension should 
set us all on searching our hearts, for we cannot repent of 
the evil of which we are not conscious. It should put us 
upon watching against negligence ; it should set us upon 
distrusting a false security, upon examining into the ground 
of oar confidence. No dependence on the-goodness of our 
spiritual condition, no trust in our exactness in some pecu- 
liar duties, no fancied superiority of ourselves, to others, 
no exemption from gross and palpable disorders, should 
soothe us into a belief that we have no concern in the visi- 
tation. Throwing off their own guilt upon others was the 
second sin of the first offenders. 

Another practical use of the doctrine of Providence is, 

to enable us to maintain a composed frame of spirit under 

; Hr?ary dispensations. If we' kept up a sense of God's 



44 PRACTICAL USES OF THE 

agency in common as well as in extraordinary occurren* 
ces — if we were practically persuaded that nothing hap- 
pens but by divine appointment, it might still those flue tu» 
ations of mind, quiet those uncertainties of temper, con- 
quer that unreasonable exaltation or depression, which 
arise from our not habitually reflecting that all things are 
determined in number, or weight, or measure, by infinite 
love. If we acted under the full conviction that He who 
first set the world in motion governs every creature in it — 
that we do not take our place upon that stage in space, 
or that period in time, which we chuse, but where and 
when He pleases ; that it is he who " ordereth the bounds 
of our habitation, and fixeth our lot in life," we should not 
only contemplate with sober awe the strange events of 
the age in which we may be living, but cheerfully submit 
to our individual difficulties, as arising from the same pre- 
disposition of causes. Our neglecting to cultivate this 
train of thought may account for those murmurs which 
arise in our hearts, both for the public calamities of the 
world, and the private vexations of life. 

If we took God into the account, we should feel 
as rational subjects of his moral government, we are be 
to submit to it: we should not indulge discontent and re- 
sentment at events which we should then allow 
either by his appointment or permission, as we now ac- 
knowledge in the more extraordinary cases. But how 
few are there who think themselves' obliged to endure 
without repining, the effects of accident, or the provoca- 
tions of men ? and this is because they see only the proxi- 
mate cause, and do not perceive that God is the grand effi- 
cient. In our difficulties, if the sense of his presence were as 
strongly impressed upon us as the trial is powerfully felt, 
it would make the heart strong, and render the temptation 
feeble. Nor would it only strengthen us under temptation, 
but sustain us under affliction ; we should become both 
bumble by correction; and patient under it; we should be 



DOCTRINE OF PROVIDENCE. 45 

grateful in prosperity, without being elated by it, A deep 
conviction of God's authority over us and his property in 
us, would also make us kind to others as an acknowledge- 
ment that all is his. The very Heathen entertained some 
sense of his sovereignty ; (hey acknowledged at least their 
victories to proceed from him, when they dedicated their 
spoils to the deliverer. 

If we maintained this constant sense of his providential 
government, we should be more instant in prayer, we should 
more fervently supplicate him in our distresses, and more 
devoutly adore him for his mercies. The recognition of 
his sovereignty infers the duty of prayer to him, of implicit 
trust in him, of unqualified submission to him ; for the same 
argument which proves that he should govern, makes it 
right that we should obey ; and the avowal of that obe- 
dience is alike consistent with the character of the subject, 
and the claims of the sovereign. Thus used, there is no con- 
solation to an afflicted world like that which is derived 
from the position contained in the proclamation of the 
imperial penitent of Babylon, " that the most High ruleth 
in the kingdoms of men;" that he ruleth not by an arbi- 
trary will, but, to borrow the emphatic language of the 
Apocalypse, by the perfections of the mind that hath 

WISDOM. 

But, as we seem virtually to divide the affairs of the 
world into two portions, we talk as if we did not think 
certain ordinary trials considerable enough to come from 
God, nor of course to require that we should meet them 
with temper. Under these, therefore, we make ourselves 
what amends we can for the vexation of trials more severe, 
by indulging fretfulness, secure of impunity, But let us 
be assured of these' two things, if it be a trial at all it comes 
from God, if it disturb our peace, however trivial in itself, 
it is not small to us, and therefore claims submission. 

It is worth our observation that they who are ready tc 
quarrel with Omnipotence for the infliction of pain and 



46 PRACTICAL USES OF THE 

suffering, poverty and distress, seldom arraign him for 
their intellectual or moral deficiencies. Most men are 
better satisfied with their allotment of capacity than of 
health ; of virtue than of riches ; of skill, than of power* 
We seldom grudgingly compare our mental endowments 
with those of others who are obviously more highly gifted, 
while we are sufficiently forward to repine at their superi- 
ority in worldly advantages. Though too sensibly alive 
to the narrower limits in which our fortune is confined, 
we do not lament our severer restrictions in the article of 
personal merit. In the latter instance vanity supports 
as completely as in the former envy disturbs. 

Most of the calamities of human life originate with our- 
selves. Even sickness, shame, pain, and death were not 
originally the infliction of God. But out of many evils, 
whether sent us by his immediate hand, or brought on us 
by our own faults, much eventual good is educed by Him, 
who by turning our suffering to our benefit, repairs by 
grace the evils produced by sin. Without being the author 
of evil, the bare suggestion of which is blasphemy, he con- 
verts it to his own glory, by causing the effects of it to 
promote our good. If the virtuous suffer from the crimes 
of the wicked, it is because their imperfect goodness stood 
in need of chastisement. Even the wicked, who are suf- 
fering by their own sins, or the sins of each other, are 
sometimes brought back to God by mutual injuries, the 
sense of which awakens them to compunction for their own 
offences. God makes use of the faults even of good men to 
skew them their own insufficiency, to abase thein in their 
own eyes, to cure them of vanity and self-dependence. He 
makes use of their smaller failings, to set them on the watch 
against great ones ; of their imperfections, to put them on 
their guard against sins ; of their faults of inadvertency, to 
Increase their dread of such as are wilful. This superin- 
duced vigilance teaches them to fear all the resemblances, 






DOCTRINE OF PROVIDENCE 1 . 47 

and to shun all the approaches to sin. It is a salutary fear, 
which keeps them from using all the liberty they have ; it 
leads them to avoid, not only whatever is decidedly wrong, 
but to stop short of what is doubtful, to keep clear of what 
is suspicious ; well knowing the thin partitions which se- 
parate danger from destruction. It teaches them to watch 
the buddings and germinations of evil, to anticipate the 
pernicious fruit in the opening blossom. 

The weakness and inactivity of our faith expose us to 
continual distrust. When we ourselves are idle, we are dis- 
posed to suspect that the Omnipotent is not at work. 
That process which we do not see, we are too much in- 
clined to suspect is not going on. From this unhallowed 
egotism, where we are not the prime movers, we fancy that 
all stands still. The various parts of the scheme of 
Providence are sometimes connected by a thread so fine as 
to elude our dim sight ; but, though it may be so attenu- 
ated as to be invisible, it is never broken off. The plan is 
carrying on, and the work, perhaps, about to be accom- 
plished, while we are accusing the Great Artificer, as if 
he were capable of neglect, or liable to error. But if, af- 
ter tracing Providence through many a labyrinth, we seem 
to lose sight of him : if, after having lost our clue, we are 
tempted to suspect that this operation is suspended, or that 
his agency has ceased, he is working all the time out of 
sight — he is proceeding, if the comparison maybe allowed, 
like the fabled Arethusa, whose stream having disappeared 
in the place to which it had been followed up, is still mak- 
ing its way under ground ; though we are not cured of our 
incredulity, till we again discover him, bursting forth like 
the same river, which, having pursued its hidden passage 
through every obstruction, rises once more in all its beauty 
in another and an unexpected place. 

But even while we are rebelling against his dispensations, 
we are taking oar hints in the economy of public and pri- 
vate life, from the economy of Providence in the adminis- 



48 PRACTICAL USES OF THE 

tration of the world. We govern our country by laws 
emulative of those by which he governs his creatures : — we 
train our children by probationary discipline, as he trains 
his servants. Penal laws in states, like those of the Divine 
Legislator, indicate no hatred to those to whom they are 
proclaimed, for every man is at liberty not to break them: 
they are enacted in the first instance for admonition rather 
than chastisement, and serve as much for prevention as 
punishment. The discipline maintained in all well-ordered 
families is intended not only to promote their virtue, but 
their happiness. The intelligent child perceives his father's 
motive for restraining him, till the act of obedience having 
induced the habit, and both having broken in his rebelli- 
ous will, he loves the parent the more for the restraint ; on 
the other hand, the mismanaged and ruined son learns to 
despise the father, who has given him a licence to which 
he has discernment enough to perceive he owes the miseries 
consequent upon his uncurbed appetites. 

It is however to be lamented, that this great doctrine of 
God's universal superintendence is not only madly denied, 
or inconsistently overlooked by one class of men, but is fool- 
ishly perverted, or fanatically abused by another. Without 
entering upon the wide field of instances, we shall confine 
our remarks to two that are the most common. First, the 
fanciful, frivolous and bold familiarity with which this su- 
preme dictation and government are cited on the most 
trivial occasions, and adduced in a manner dishonourable 
to infinite wisdom, and derogatory to supreme goodness. 
The persons who are guilty of this fault seem not to per- 
ceive, that it is not more foolish and presumptuous to deny 
it altogether than to expect that God's particular Provi- 
dence will interpose, in order to save their exertions, cr 
excuse their industry. For though Providence directs 
and assists virtuous endeavours, he never, by superseding 
them, encourages idleness, or justifies presumption. 

The highly censurable use to which some others convert 



BOCTRINE OF PROVIDENCE. 4$ 

this divine agency, is, when not only the pretence of trust- 
ing Providence is made the plea for the indolent desertion 
of tneir own duty ; but an unwarrantable confidence in 
providential leadings is adopted to excuse their own im- 
prudence. Great is the temerity, when Providence is vir- 
tually reproached for the ill success of our affairs, or plead- 
ed as an apology for our own wilfulness, or as a vindication 
©four own absurdity in the failure of some foolish plan, or 
some irrational pursuit. We have no right to depend on a 
supernatural interposition to help us out of difficulties into 
which we have been thrown by our misconduct, or under 
distresses into which we have been plunged by our errors. 
God, though he knows the prayers which we may offer, 
and accepts the penitence which we feel, will not use his 
power to correct our ill-judged labours, any otherwise than 
by making us smart for their consequences. 

The power of God, as it is not an idle, so it is not « 
solitary prerogative. It is indeed an attribute in constant 
exercise ; it is not kept for state, but use ; not for display, 
but exercise ; and as it is infinite, one half of the concerns 
of the universe are not, as we intimated before, suspended, 
because he is superintending the other half. He is per- 
petually examining the chronicles of human kind, and 
inspecting the register of human actions — not like the 
King in the Palace of Shushan*, because •" he cannot 
rest," for Omniscience never slumbers or sleeps— nor like 
him to repair the wrongs of one man whose services had 
remained unrequited, but that, " beholding the evil and 
the good," no services may go unnoticed and unrecom- 
pensed, from the earliest offering of pious Abel, to the 
latest oblation of faith In the end of time. 

This view of things, and it is the view which the en- 
lightened Christian takes, tends to correct his anger against 
t$feep, and affords him such an assurance that every 

* ihWfc^rns*— Esther, ciiaj 



50 PRACTICAL USES OF THE 

occurrence will be over-ruled by everlasting love for his 
eventual good — inspires him with such holy confidence in 
the promises of the Gospel, that he acquires a repose of 
spirit, not merely from compelled submission to authority, 
but from rational acquiescence in goodness. He feels that 
his confirmed belief in this universal agency is the only 
thing that can set his heart at rest, still its perturbations, 
moderate its impatience, soothe its terrors, confirm its 
faith, preserve its peace, or, when it has suffered a momen- 
tary suspension, restore it. 

Nor does God exercise his Providence alone, either in 
signal instances of retribution, or in the hidden consola- 
tions of the believer ; but those secret stings of conscience 
which goad and lacerate every guilty individual in any 
criminal pursuit — that larking discontent which gives the 
lie to flattery, and mingles the note of discord with the 
music of acclamation — that unprompted misery of feeling 
which infuses wormwood into his sweetest pleasures, pro- 
seeds from the same providential infliction. 

Some men seem to admit a Providence on a scale which 
expands their ideas, but fancy it an affront to conceive of 
Him on one jj^hich they think contracts them. If they 
allow that he takes a sweeping view of nations, yet they 
imply that it would be too minute an exercise of his super- 
intendence to inspect individuals. The truth is, as we in- 
timated before, men are too much disposed to frame their 
conceptions of God by the limited powers and capacities of 
human greatness. They observe, that a king who con- 
trols the affairs of a vast empire cannot possibly inspect 
the concerns of every private family, much less of every 
single subject. This limited capacity they unconsciously, 
yet irreverently, transfer to the King of kings. But as 
no concern is so vast as to encumber Omnipotence, so 
none is too diminutive to escape the eye of Omniscience. 
There is no argument for a general, but is also an argu- 



DOCTRINE OF PROVIDENCE. 51 

ment for a particular Providence, unless we can prove 
that the whole is not made up of parts y that generals are 
not composed of particulars ; that nations are not com- 
. pounded of families ; that societies are not formed of in- 
dividuals ; that chains are not composed of links ; that 
sums are not made up of units ; that the interests of a 
community do not grow out of the well-being of its mem- 
bers. The interests of a particular memVer, indeed, may 
sometimes appear to suffer from that which promotes the 
general good, yet he, by whose law the individual may 
seem to be injured, has means of remuneration or of com- 
fort which may prevent the sufferer fwom being ultimately 
a loser. If, as we are assured, upon God's own autho/ity, 
that our tears are treasured up by him, will not their ap- 
propriate consolations be also provided ? Though He whose 
footsteps are not known, may act in some instances in a 
manner incomprehensible to us, yet if we allow that he 
acts wisely and holily in cases which we do comprehend, 
we should give him credit in the obscure and impenetrable 
cases, for he can no more act contrary to his attributes in 
the one instance than in the other. 

Every intelligent being, therefore, should look up to di- 
vine Providence, not only as engaged in the government 
and disposal of states, but as exercised for his individual 
protection, peace and comfort ;-- should look habitually to 
Him who confers favour without claim, and happiness 
without merit ; to him whose veracity fulfils all the. pro- 
mises which his goodness has made — to Him whose pity 
commiserates the afflicted, whose bounty supplies the in- 
digent, whose long suffering bears with the rebellious, 
whose love absolves the guilty, whose mercy in Christ Je- 
sus accepts the penitent. Such is the fulness of that attri- , 
bute which we sum up in a single word, the goodness of God 
It is this goodness which influences his other attributes in 
our favour, attributes which would else necessarily act 
against creatures at once sinful and impotent. It makes 



52 PRACTICAL USES OF THE 

that wisdom which sees our weakness, strengthen us, and 
that power which might overwhelm us, act for our preser- 
vation. Without this goodness, all his other perfections 
would be to us as the beauties of his natural creation would 
foe, if the sun were blotted from the firmament — they might 
indeed exist, but without this illuminating and cherishing 
principle, as we should neither have seen nor felt them, so 
to us they could not be said to be. 

Some Christians seem to view the Almighty as encir- 
ded with no attribute but his sovereignty. God, in esta- 
blishing his moral government, might indeed have acted 
solely by his sovereignty. He might have pleaded no 
other reason for our allegiance but his absolute dominion. 
He might have governed arbitrarily, without explaining 
the nature of his requisitions : He might have reigned over 
us as a king, without endearing himself to us as a father. 
He might have exacted fealty, without the offer of remun- 
eration, Instead of this, while he maintains his entire title 
to our obedience, he mitigates the austerity of command 
by the invitations of his kindness, and softens the rigour of 
authority by the allurement of his promises. In holding out 
menaces to deter us from disobedience, he balances them 
with the offered plenitude of our own felicity, and thus in- 
stead of terrifying, attracts us to obedience. If he threat- 
ens, — it is that by intimidating he may be spared the ne- 
cessity of punishing ; if he promises — it is that we may 
perceive our happiness to be bound up with our obedience. 
Thus his goodness invites us to a compliance, which his 
sovereignty might have demanded on the single ground 
that it was his due. Whereas he seems almost to wave 
our duty as a claim, as if to afford us the merit of a volun- 
tary obedience ; though the very will to obey is his gift, he 
promises to accept it as if it were our own act. He first 
inspires the desire and then rewards it. Thus his power, it 
we may hazard the expression, gives place to his goodness^ 
and he presses us by tenderness almost more than he ecm- 



DOCTRINE OF PROVIDENCE. 53 

strains us by authority. He even condescends to make 
our happiness no less a motive for our duty than his injunc- 
tions j hear his affectionate apostrophe — w Oh that thou 
hadst hearkened to ray commandments, then had thy 
peace been as a river i" 

It was that his goodness might have the precedency of 
his Omnipotence, that he vouchsafed to give the Law in 
the shape of a covenant He stooped to enter into a sort 
of reciprocal engagement with his creatures, — he conde- 
scended to stipulate with the work of his hands ! JSut the 
consummation of his goodness was reserved for his work of 
Redemption. Here he not only performed the office, but 
assumed the name of Love ; a name with which, notwith- 
standing all his preceding wonders of Providence and 
Grace, he was never invested till after the completion of 
this last, greatest act: — an act towards his pardoned rebels, 
not only of indemnity but promotion ; — an act which the 
angels desire to scrutinize, and which man will never fully 
comprehend till he enters on that beatitude to which it has 
Introduced him. 



CHAP. IV. 

5 THY WILL BE DONE. 55 



To desire to know the Divine will is the first duty of 
being so ignorant as man ; to endeavour to obey it is the 
most indispensable duty of a being at once so corrupt and 
$o dependant. The Holy Scriptures frequently comprize 
the essence of the Christian temper in some short aphorism, 
apostrophe, or definition. The essential spirit of the Chris- 
tian life may be said to be included in this one brief peti- 
tion of the Christian's prayer, "thy will be done;'' 
just as the distinguishing characteristic of the irreligious 
may be said to consist in following his own will. 

There is a haughty spirit which, though it will not com- 
plain, does not care to submit. It arrogates to itself the 
dignity of enduring, without any claim to the meekness of 
yielding. Its silence is stubbornness, its fortitude is pride ; 
its calmness is apathy without, and discontent within. In 
such characters it is not so much the will of God which is 
the rule of conduct, as the scorn of pusillanimity. Not 
seldom indeed the mind puts in a claim for a merit to which 
the nerves could make out a better title. Yet the suffer- 
ing which arises from acute feeling is so far from deducting 
from the virtue of resignation, that, when it does not im- 
pede the sacrifice, it enhances the value. True resignation 
is the hardest lesson in the whole school of Christ. It is 
the oftenest taught and the latest leafnt. It is not a task 
which, when once got over in some particular instance* 
leaves us master of the subject. The necessity of follow- 
ing up the lesson we have begun, presents itself almost 
every day in some new shape, occurs under some fresh mo- 
dification. The submission of yesterday does not exone- 
rate us from the resignation of to-day. The principle, 
Indeed, once thoroughly wrought into the soul, gradually 



. 



THY WILL BE DONE. 5S 

reconciles us to the frequent demand for its exercise, and 
renders every successive call more easy. 

We read dissertations on this subject, not only with the 
most entire concurrence of the judgment, but with the 
most apparent acquiescence of the mind. We write essays 
upon it in the hour of peace and composure, and fancy 
that what we have discussed with so much ease and self- 
complacence, in favour of which we offer so many arguments 
to convince and so many motives to persuade, cannot be 
veiy dfficult to practise. But to convince the understand- 
ing and to correct the will is a very different undertaking ; 
and not less difficult when it comes to our own case than 
it was in the case of those for whom we have been so coolly 
and dogmatically prescribing. It is not till we practically 
find how slowly our own arguments produce any effect on 
ourselves that we cease to marvel at their inefficacy on 
others. The sick physician tastes with disgust the bitter- 
ness of the draught, to the swallowing of which he wondered 
the patient had felt so much repugnance ; and the reader is 
sometimes convinced by the arguments which fail of their 
effect on the writer, when he is called, not to discuss, but to 
act, not to reason, but to suffer. The theory is so just and 
the duty so obvious, that even bad men assent to it ; the ex- 
ercise so trying that the best men find it more easy to com- 
mend the rule than to adopt it. But he who has once got- 
ten engraved, not in his memory but in his heart, this di- 
vine precept, thy will be done, has made a proficiency 
which will render all subsequent instruction comparatively 
easy. 

Though sacrifices and oblations were offered to God 
under the law by his own^express appointment, yet he pe- 
remptorily rejected them by his prophets, when presented 
as substitutes instead of signs. Will he, under a more per- 
fect dispensation, accept of any observances which are 
meant to supersede internal dedication — of any offering! 
unaccompanied by complete desire of acquiescence in his 
will ? " My son, give me thine heart," is his brief but im* 



5(5 THY WILL BE DONE. 

perative command. But before we can be brought to 
comply with the spirit of this requisition, God must enligh- 
ten our understanding that our devotion may be rational, 
he must rectify our will that it may be voluntary, he must 
purify our heart that it may be spiritual. 

Submission is a duty of such high and holy import that 
it can only be learnt of the Great Teacher. I fit could 
have been acquired by mere moral institution, the wise 
sayings of the ancient philosophers would have taught it> 
But their most elevated standard was low ; their strongest 
motives were the brevity of life, the instability of fortune, 
the dignity of suffering virtue, things within their narrow 
sphere of judging; things true indeed as far as they go, 
but a substratum by no means equal to the superstructure 
to be built on it. It wanted depth and strength and soli- 
dity for the purposes of support. It wanted the only true 
basis, the assurance that God orders all things according 
to the purposes of his will for our final good : it wanted 
that only sure ground of faith by which the genuine Chris- 
tian cheerfully submits in entire dependence on the promi- 
ses of the Gospel. 

Nor let us fancy that we are to be languid and inactive 
recipients of the divine dispensations. Our own souls 
must be enlarged, our own views must be ennobled, our 
own spirit must be dilated. An inoperative acquiescence 
is not all that is required of us : — and if we must not slack- 
en our zeal in doing good, so we must not be remiss in op- 
posing evil, on the flimsy ground that God has permitted 
evil to infest the world. If it be his will to permit siu, it 
is an opposition to his will when we do not labour to coun- 
teract it. This surrender therefore, of our will to that of 
God, takes in a large sweep of actual duties, as well as the 
whole compass of passive obedience. It involves doing as 
well as suffering, activity as well as acquiescence, zeal as 
well as forbearance. Yet the concise petition daily slips off 
the tongue without our reflecting on the weight of the 



1HY WILL BE DONE, 04 

obligation we are imposing on ourselves. We do not con- 
sider the extent and consequences of the prayer we are 
offering, the sacrifices, the trials, the privations it may 
involve, and the large indefinite obedience to all the known 
and unknown purposes of infinite wisdom to which we are 
pledging ourselves. 

There is no case in which we more shelter ourselves in 
generalities. Verbal sacrifices cost little, cost nothing. 
The familiar habit of repeating the petition almost tempts 
us to fancy that the duty is as easy as the request is short. 
"We are ready to think that a prayer rounded off in four 
monosyllables can scarcely involve duties co-extensive 
with our whole course of being ; that, in uttering them, we 
renounce all right in ourselves, that we acknowledge the 
universal indefeasible title of the blessed and only Potentate ; 
that we make over to Him the right to do in us, and with 
us, and by us, whatever he sees good for ourselves, what- 
ever will promote his glory, though by means sometimes ag 
incomprehensible to our understanding, as unacceptable to 
our will, because we neither know the motive, nor perceive 
the end. These simple words express an act of faith the 
most sublime, an act of allegiance the most unqualified ; 
and, while they make a declaration of entire submission to 
a Sovereign the most absolute, they are, at the same time, 
a recognition of love to a Father the most beneficent. 

We must remember, that in offering this prayer, we may 
by our own request, be offering to resign what we most 
dread to lose, to give up what is dear to us as our own 
soul ; we may be calling on our heavenly Father to with- 
hold what we are most anxiously labouring to attain, and 
to*withdraw what we are most sedulously endeavouring to 
keep. We are solemnly renouncing our property in our- 
selves, we are distinctly making ourselves over again to 
Him whose we already are. We specifically entreat hiai 
to do with us what he pleases, to mould us to a conformity 
to his image, without which we shall never be resigned to 



58 THY WILL BE DONE. 

Ms will. In short, to dispose of us as his infinite wisdom 
sees best, however contrary to the scheme which our blind- 
ness has laid down as the path to unquestionable happiness. 

To render this trying petition easy to us, is one great 
reason why God, by such a variety of providences, afflicts 
and brings us low. He knows that we want incentives to 
humility, even more than incitements to virtuous actions. 
He shews us in many ways, that self sufficiency and happi- 
ness are incompatible ; that pride and peace are irrecon- 
cilable ; that, following our own way, and doing our own 
will, which we conceive to be of the very essence of feli- 
city, is in direct opposition to it. 

" Christianity," says Bishop Horseley, " involves many 
paradoxes, but no contradictions." To be able to say 
with entire surrender of the heart, " Thy will be done," is 
the true liberty of the children of God, that liberty with; 
which Christ has made them free. It is a liberty , not which 
delivers us from restraint, but which, freeing us from oar 
subjection to the senses, makes us find no pleasure but in 
order, no safety but in the obedience of an intelligent being 
to his rightful Lord. In delivering us from the heavy bon- 
dage of sin, it transfers us to the 6i easy yoke of Christ," 
from the galling slavery of the world to the " light burden" 
of him who overcame it. 

This liberty in giving a true direction to the affections, 
gives them amplitude as well as elevation. The more un- 
constrained the will becomes, the more it fixes on one ob- 
ject ; once fixed on the highest, it does not use ks liberty 
for versatility, but for constancy, not for change, but fidel- 
ity, not for wavering, but adherence. 

It is, therefore, no less our interest, than our duty, to 
keep the mind in an habitual posture of submission. 
" Adam," says Dr. Hammond, " after his expulsion, was a 
greater slave in the wilderness than he had been in the inclo- 
sure." If the barbarian ambassador came expressly to the 
Romans to negotiate from his country for permission to be 



THY WILL BE DONE. 59 

their servants, declaring, that a voluntary submission, even 
to a foreign power, was preferable to a wild and disorderly 
freedom, well may the Christian triumph in the peace and 
security to be attained by a complete subjugation to Him 
who is emphatically called the God of order. 

A vital faith manifests itself in vital acts. " Thy will be 
clone," is eminently a practical petition. The first indica- 
tion of the gaoler's change of heart was a practical indica- 
tion. He did not ask, " Are there few that be saved," but, 
"What shall 1 do to be saved?" The first symptom St. 
Paul gave" of his conversion, was a practical symptom ; 
" Lord y what wilt thou have me to do ?" He entered on 
his new course with a total renunciation of his own will. 
It seemed to this great Apostle, to be the turning point 
between infidelity and piety, whether he should follow his 
own will, or the will of God. He did not amuse his curi- 
osity with speculative questions. His own immediate and 
grand concern engrossed his whole soul. Nor was his 
question a mere hasty effusion, an interrogative springing 
out of that mixed feeling of awe and wonder which ac- 
companied his first overwhelming convictions, Tt became 
the abiding principle which governed his future life, which 
made him in labours more abundant. Every successive act 
of duty, every future sacrifice of ease, sprang from it, 
was influenced by it. His own will, hi§ ardent, impetuous 5 
fiery will, was not merely subdued, it was extinguished . 
His powerful mind indeed lost none of its energy, but his 
proud heart relinquished all its independence. 

We allow and adopt the term devotion as an indispensa- 
ble part. of religion, because it is supposed to be limited t© 
the act ; but devetedncss, from which* it is derived, does not 
meet with such ready acceptation, because this is a habit, 
and an habit involves more than an act ; it pledges us to 
consistency, it implies fixedness of character, a general 
';ned state of mind, a giving up what we are, and have, 
v>, to God. Devotedness does not consist in the 



60 THY WILL EE DONE. 

length of our prayers, nor in the number of our good workf, 
for, though these are the surest evidences of piety, they are 
not its essence. Devotedness consists in doing and suffer- 
ing, bearing and forbearing in the way which God pre- 
scribes. The most inconsiderable duty performed with 
alacrity, if it oppose our own inclination ; the most ordina- 
ry trial met with a right spirit, is more acceptable to him 
than a greater effort of our own devising We do not com- 
mend a servant for his activity, if ever so fervently exer- 
cised, in doing whatever gratifies his own fancy : We d* 
not consider his performance as obedience, unless his activi- 
ty has been exercised in doing what we required of him. 
Now, how can we insist on his doing what contradicts his 
own humour, while we allow ourselves to feel repugnance 
in serving our heavenly Master, when his commands do 
not exactly fall in with our own inclination ? 

We must also give God leave, not only to take his own 
way, but his own time. The appointment of seasons, as 
well as of events, is his. " He waits to be gracious." If 
lie delays, it is because we are not yet brought to that state 
which fits us for the grant of our request. It is not he who 
must be brought about, but we ourselves. Or, perhaps, he 
refuses the thing we ask, in order to give us a better. We 
implore success in an undertaking, instead of which, he 
gives us content under the disappointment. We ask for 
the removal of pain ; he gives us patience under it. We 
desire deliverance from our enemies ; he sees that we have 
not yet turned their enmity to our improvement, and he 
will bring us to a better temper by further exercise. We 
desire him to avert some impending trial, instead of avert- 
ing it, he takes away its bitterness; he mitigates what we 
believed would be intolerable, by giving us a right temper 
under it. How, then, can we say he has failed of his pro- 
mise, if he gives something more truly valuable than we 
had requested at his hands ? 

Some virtues are mora called out in one condition oi 






THY WILL EC DONE. 61 

and some in another. The exercise of certain qualities has 
its time and place ; but an endeavour after conformity to 
the image of God, which is best attained by submission to 
his will, is of perpetual obligation. If he does not require 
all virtues under all circumstances, there is no state or con- 
dition in which he does not require that to which our 
church perpetually calls us, ': an humble, lowly, penitent, 
and obedient heart." We may have no time, no capacity, 
no special call for deeds of notorious usefulness ; but what- 
ever be our pursuits, engagements, or abilities, it will in- 
trench on no time, require no specific call, interfere with no 
duty, to subdue our perverse will. Though the most se- 
vere of all duties, it infringes on no other, but will be the 
more effectually fulfilled by the very difficulties attending 
on other pursuits and engagements. 

We are so fond of having our own will, that it is astonish- 
ing we do not oftener employ it for our own good ; for our 
inward peace is augmented in exact proportion as our re- 
pugnance to the Divine will diminishes. Were the con« 
quest over the one complete, the enjoyment of the other 
would be perfect. But the Holy Spirit does not assume 
his emphatical title, the comforter, till his previous offi- 
ces have operated on the heart, till he has " reproved us of 
sin, of righteousness, of judgment. * 

God makes use of methods inconceivable to us, to bring 
us tx> the submission which we are more ready to request 
with our lips, than to desire with our hearts. By an im- 
perceptible operation he is ever at work for our good \ he 
promotes it by objects the most unpromising, try events the 
most unlikely. He employs means to our shallow views 
the most improbable to effect his own gracious purposes. 
In every thing he evinces that his thoughts are not as our 
thoughts. He overrules the opposition of our enemies, the 
defection of our friends, the faults of our children — the loss 
of our fortune as well as the disappointments attending its 
possession — the imsatisfactormesS of pleasure? as well as the 



62 THY With BE DONE. 

privation — the contradiction of our desires — the failure •!' 
plans which we thought we had concerted, not only with 
good judgment but pure intentions. He makes us sensible 
of our faults by the mischiefs they bring upon us ; and ac- 
knowledge our blindness, by extracting" from it consc^ 
quences diametrically opposite to those which our actions 
were intended to produce. 

Our love to God is stamped with the same imperfection 
with all our other graces. If we love him at all, it is as it were 
traditionally, hereditarily, professionally ; it is a love of 
form and not of feeling, of education and not of sentiment, 
of sense ^and not of faith. It is at best a submission to au- 
thority, and not an effusion of voluntary gratitude, a con- 
viction of the understanding, and not a cordiality of t\w 
affections. "We rather assume we have this grace than ac« 
tually possess it, we rather take it for granted on unex- 
amined grounds, than cherish it as a principle from which 
whatever good we have must proceed, and from which, if it 
does not proceed, the principle does not exist. 

Surely, say the oppugners of divine Providence, in con- 
sidering the calamities inflicted on good men, if God loved 
virtue, he would not oppress the virtuous. Surely Om- 
nipotence may find a way to make his children good, with- 
out making them miserable.- — But have these casuists ever 
devised a means by which men may be made good without 
being made humble, or happy without being made holy, or 
holy without trials? Unapt scholars indeed we are in learn- 
ing the lessons taught ! But the Teacher is not the less 
perfect because of the imbecility of his children. * 

If it be the design of Infinite Goodness to disengage us 
from the world, to detach us from ourselves, and to purify 
us to himself, the purification by sufferings seems the most 
obvious method. The same effect could not be any other- 
wise produced, except by miracles, and God is an econo- 
mist of his means in grace as well as in nature. He dealg 
out all his gifts by measure. His operation ia both is pw- 



THY WILL BE DO.\£\ 65 

gressve. Successive events operate in one case as time and 
age in the other. As suns and showers so gradually mature 
the fruits of the earth, that the growth is rather perpetual 
than perceptible, so God commonly carries on the work of 
renovation in the heart gilently and slowly, by means suita* 
ble and simple, though to us imperceptible, and sometimes 
unintelligible. Were the plans more obvious, and the pro- 
cess ostensible, there would be no room left for the opera - 
lions of faith ? no call for the exercise of patience, no demand 
ibr the grace of humility. The road to perfection is tedious 
and suffering, steep and rugged ; our impatience would 
leap over all the intervening space which' keeps us from it, 
rather than climb it by slow and painful steps. We would 
rain be spared the sorrow and shame of our own errors, of 
all their vexatious obstructions, all their dishonourable im- 
pediments. We would be completely good and happy at 
once without passing through the stages and gradations 
which lead to goodness and happiness. We require an in- 
stantaneous transformation which would cost us nothing ; 
the spirit of God works by a gradual process which costs 
us much. We would combine his favour with our self-in- 
dulgence ; we would be spared the trials he has appointed 
without losing the felicity he has promised. We complain 
of the severity of the operation, but the operation would 
not be so severe if the disease did not lie so deep. 

Besides, the afflictions which God appoints, are not sel- 
dom sent to save us from those we should bring on our 
selves, and winch might have added guilt to misery. Ha 
threatens, but it is that he may finally save. If " punish- 
ment is his strange," it is also his necessary " work." 
Even in the sorest affliction, the loss of those we love, there 
may be a mercy impenetrable to us. God has, perhaps, 
laid up for us in heaven that friend whom we might have 
lost in eternity, had he been restored to our prayers here, 
—But if the affliction be not improved, it is, indeed, un- 
speakably heavy. If the loss of our friend does not helr> 



64 THY WILL BE DOK£. 

to detatch us from the world we have the calamity with- 
out the indemnification ; we are deprived of our treasure 
without any advantage to ourselves. If the loss of him 
we loved does not make us more earnest to secure our 
salvation, we may lose at once our friend and our sou!, 
To endure the penalty and lose the profit, is to be emphat- 
ically miserable. * 

Sufferings are the only relics of the true cross, and when 
Divine grace turns them to our spiritual good, they almost 
perform the miracles which blind superstition ascribes to 
the false one. God mercifully takes from us what we have 
not courage to offer him ; but if, when he resumes it, he 
sanctifies the loss, let us not repine It was his while it 
was ours. He was the proprietor while we were the pos- 
sessors. 

Though we profess a general readiness to submit to the 
Divine will, there is nothing in which we are more liable 
to illusion. Self-love is a subtle casuist. We invent dis- 
tinctions. We too critically discriminate between afflic- 
tions which proceed more immediately from God, and 
disappointments which come from the world. To the 
former we acknowledge, in words at least, our wilingness 
to submit. In the latter, though equally his dispensation, 
we seem to feel justified in refusing to acquiesce. God does 
not desire us to inflict punishments on ourselves, he only 
expects us to bear with patience those he inflicts on us, whe- 
ther they come more immediately from himself or through 
the medium of his creatures. 

Love being the root of obedience, it is no test of that 
obedience, if we obey God only in things which do not 
cross our inclinations, while we disobey him in things 
that are repugnant to them. Not to obey except when 
it costs us nothing is rather to please ourselves than God, 
for it is evident we should disobey him in these also if the 
allurement were equally powerful in these cases as in the 
others. We may, indeed vlezci in apology that the com 



THY wiCl be done, 66 

isand we resist is of less importance than that with which 
we comply ; but this is a false excuse, for the authority 
which enjoins the least, is the same with that which com- 
mands the greatest ; and it is the authority to winch we 
are to submit, as much as to the command, 

There is a passage in St. Luke which does not seem to 
be always brought to bear on this point as fully as it ought: 
" Unless a man forsake all that he hath, he cannot be my 
disciple." This does not seem to be quite identical with 
the command in another place, that " a man should sell 
all that he has," &c. When the christian world, indeed, 
was in its infancy, the literal requisition in both cases was 
absolutely necessary. But it appears to be a more liberal 
interpretation of the command, as " forsaking" all that we 
have, extends to a full and entire consecration of our- 
selves to God, a dedication without reserve, not of fortune 
only, but of every desire, every faculty, every inclination, 
every talent ; a resignation of the whole will, a surren- 
der of the whole soul. It is this surrender which alone 
sanctifies our best actions. It is this pure oblation, this 
offering of unshared affection, this unmaimed sacrifice^ 
which is alone acceptable to God, through that full, per- 
fect, and svfficient sacrifice, oblation, and satisfaction, made 
for the sins of the whole world. Our money he will not 
accept without our good will, our devotions without ou? 
affections, our services without our hearts. Like the pre- 
varicating pair, whose duplicity was punished by instant 
death, whatever we keep back will annihilate the value 
of what w r e bring. It will be nothing if it be not all. .* 
•Acts, chap, r 



CHAP. V. 

ON PARABLE. 

It is obvious, that the reason why mankind, in g 
so much delighted with allegory and metaphor, is, be- 
cause they are so proportioned to our senses, those nrst in- 
lets of ideas Ideas gained by the senses quickly pass into 
the region of the imagination ; and from thence, more par- 
ticularly the illiterate and uninformed, fetch materials for 
the employment of their reason. 

Little reaches the understanding of the mass but through 
this medium. Their minds are not fitted for the reception 
of abstract truth. Dry argumentative instruction, there- 
fore, is not proportioned to their capacity ; the faculty by 
which aright conclusion is drawn, is, in them, the most 
defective ; they rather feel strongly than judge accurately : 
and their feelings are awakened by the impression made on 
their senses. 

The connection of these remarks with the subject of 
instruction by parable, is obvious. It is the nature 
of parable to open the doctrine which it professes to con- 
ceal. By engaging attention and exciting curiosity, it 
developes truth with more effect than by a more explicit 
exposition. By laying hold on the imaginations, parable 
insinuates itself into the affections, and, by the intercom- 
munication of the faculties, the understanding is made to 
apprehend the truth which was proposed to the fancy. 

There is commonly found sufficient rectitude of judg- 
ment in the generality to decide fairly on any point within 
their reach of mind, if the decision neither opposes their 
interest nor interferes with their prejudice. If you can 
separate the truth from any personal concern of their own, 
their verdict will probably be just ; but if their views i 
clouded by passion, or biassed by selfishness, that ma 
must possess a more than ordinal*) 7 degree of integrity 



ON PARABLE. 67 

who decides against himself and in favour of what is 
right. 

In the admirably devised parable of Nathan, David's 
eager condemnation of the unsuspected offender is a strik- 
ing instance of the delusion of sin and the blindness of 
self-love. He who had lived a whole year in the unre- 
pented commission of one of the blackest crimes of the 
decalogue, and who, to secure to himself the object for 
which he had committed it, perpetrated another almost 
more heinous, and that with an hypocrisy foreign to his 
character, could in an instant denounce death on the im- 
aginary offender for a fault comparatively trifling. The 
vehemence of his resentment even overstepped the limits 
of his natural justice, in decreeing a punishment dispro- 
portioned to the crime, while he remained dead to his own 
deep delinquency. A pointed parable instantly surprised 
Mm into the most bitter self-reproach. A direct accusation 
might have inflamed him before he was thus prepared ; and, 
in the one case, he might have punished the accuser, by 
whom, in the other, he was brought to the deepest self- 
abasement. The prudent prophet did not rashly reproach 
the King with the crime he wished him to condemn, but 
placed the fault at such a distance, and in such a proper 
point of view, that he first procured his impartial judg- 
ment, and afterwards his self-condemnation. An impor- 
tant lesson, not only to the offender, but to the re- 
prover, 

He " who knew what w r as in man," and who intended 
bis religion, not for a few critics to argue upon, but for a 
whole world to act upon, frequently adopted the mode of 
instructing by allegory. Though he sometimes conde- 
scended to unveil the hidden sense, by disclosing the moral 
meaning, in some short, but most significant comment ; 
yet he usually left the application to those whom he meant 
to benefit by the doctrine. The truth which spoke strong- 
ly to their prejudices, by the veil in which it was wrapped. 



68 ON PARABLE. 

spared the shame while it conveyed the instruction, &n& 
they probable found a gratification in the ingenuity of 
their own solution which contributed to reconcile them to 
the sharpness of the reproof. 

The most unjust and prejudiced of the Jews were, by this 
wise management, frequently drawn in to give an uncon- 
scious testimony against themselves: this was especially 
the case in the instance of the householder and his ser- 
vants. Had the truth they were led to deduce from this 
parable, been presented in the offensive form of a direct 
charge, it would have fired them with inexpressible indig- 
nation. 

Christians who abound in zeal, but are defective in 
knowledge and prudence, would do well to remember that 
discretion made a remarkable, though not disproportionate 
part of the Redeemer's character ; he never invited attack 
by imprudence, or provoked hostility by intemperate rash- 
ness. When argument was not listened to, when persua- 
sion was of no avail, when even ail his miracles of mercy 
were misrepresented, and his divine beneficence thrown 
away, so that all farther attempts to do good were unavail- 
ing, he withdrew to another place ; there, indeed, to expe- 
rience the same malignity, there to exercise the same com- 
passion. 

The divine Author of our religion gave also the. example 
of teaching, not only by parable, but by simple proposi- 
tions, detached truths, pointed interrogations, positive in- 
junctions, and independent prohibitions, rather than by ela- 
borate and continuous dissertation. He instructed, not 
only by consecutive arguments, but by invitations, and 
dissuasives adapted to the feelings, and intelligible to the 
apprehensions of his audience. He drew their attention 
]by popular allusions, delighted it by vivid representations, 
and fixed it by reference to actual events. He alluded to 
the Galileans, crushed by the falling tower, which they 
remembered — to local scenery— the vines of Gethf-rir^^f > 



ON PARABLE. 69 

which they beheld, while he was descanting respectively 
upon repentance, and upon himself, as the " true vine." 
By these simple, but powerful and suitable methods, he 
brought their daily habits, 'and every-day ideas, to run in 
the same channel with their principles and their duties, 
and made every object with which they were surrounded 
contribute its contingent to their instruction. 

The lower ranks, who most earnestly sought access to 
his person, could form a tolerable exact judgment on the 
things he taught, by the aptness of his allusions to what 
they saw, and felt, and heard. The humble situation he 
assumed, also, prevented their being intimidated by power, 
or influenced by authority. It at once made their attend- 
ance a voluntary act, and their assent an unbiassed con- 
viction. The questions proposed with a simple desire of 
Instruction, were answered with condescending kindness ; 
those dictated by curiosity or craft, were repelled with 
wisdom, or answered, not by gratifying importunity, but 
foy grafting on the reply some higher instruction than the 
inquirer had either proposed or desired. Where a direct 
answer would, by exciting prejudice, have impeded use- 
fulness, he evaded the particular question by enforcing 
from it some general truth. On the application of the man 
whose brother had refused to divide the inheritance with 
him — in declining to interfere judicially, he gave a great 
moral lecture of universal use against avarice, while he 
prudently avoided the subject of the particular litigation. 

His answer to the entangling question, " And who is my 
neighbour ?" suggested the instructive illustration of the 
duty to a neighbour, in that brief, but highly finished apo- 
logue of the good Samaritan. The Jews, who would nev- 
er have owned that a Samaritan was their neighbour, 
were, by this pious management, drawn in to acknowledge, 
that every man, without regard to country, who was even 
of a hostile country, if he needed their assistance, was their 
neighbour. In this slight outline, three characters are 



70 ON PAR4BLE. 

sketched with' so much spirit and distinctness, that, as Mr. 
Boyle says of Scripture truths in general, they resemble 
those portraits, whose eyes, every one who enters Ike 
room, fancies are fixed on him. 

False zeal, which he generally found associated with 
pride and hypocrisy, was almost the only vice which ex- 
torted from him unmitigated severity : if he sometimes 
corrected presumption and repelled malicious inquisitive- 
xiess, he uniformly encouraged distress to approach, and 
penitence to address him. The most indirect of his in- 
structions inculcated or encouraged goodness. The most 
simple of his reasonings were irrefragable without the for- 
mality of syllogism ; and his brief, but powerful persua- 
sions went straight to the heart, which the most elaborate 
discussions might have left unmoved. Every hearer, bow- 
ever illiterate, would at once seize his meaning, except 
those who found themselves interested in not understanding 
it ; every spectator, " if they believed not him, would be- 
lieve his works," if pride had not blinded their eyes, if pre- 
judice had not barred up their hearts. 

Thus, if in the Gospels, the great doctrines of religion 
are not always conveyed in a didactic form, or linked with 
logical arrangement, some important truth meets us at 
every turn, is held out in some brief sentence ; some hint 
is dropped that may awaken, recal, quicken, or revive per- 
petual attention. The same spirit pervades every part ; 
we are reminded without being fatigued ; and, whatever 
is the point to be pressed, some informing, alarming, or 
consoling doctrine is extracted from it, or grows out of it. 

The Scriptures, however, are so far from setting aside 
the use of reason, that all their precepts are addressed to 
it. Iflhey are delivered in a popular manner, and often 
in independent maxims, our reason, by combining them, 
methodizes thd detached passages into a perfect system ; 
go that by a combination, which it is in the power of every 
intelligent reader to make, a complete rule of practice is 



ON PARABLE, 71 

collected. The scattered precepts are embodied in exam- 
ples illustrated by figures, and exemplified by parables. 
These always suppose the mind of the hearer to be pos- 
sessed of a certain degree of common knowledge, without 
which the proposed instruction would be unintelligible. For, - 
if the Gospel does not address its disciples as if they were 
philosophers or mathematicians, it always supposes them 
to possess plain sense and ordinary information ; to have 
acquaintance with human, if not with elevated life. The 
allusions and imagery with which it abounds w r ould have 
been superfluous, if the hearers had not been previously 
acquainted with the objects and circumstances to which 
the image is referred, from which the parallel is drawn, to 
which the allusion is made. 

Our heavenly Father, in his offers of illumination, does 
not expect we should open our mental eyes to this super- 
induced light, without opening our understandings to na- 
tural and rational information, but expects that we should 
apply the faculties bestowed, to the objects proposed to 
them. We put ourselves, therefore, in the fairest way of 
obtaining his assistance, when we most diligently use all 
the means and materials he has given us ; comparing to- 
gether his works and his word ; not setting up our under- 
standing against his revelation, but, with deep humility, 
applying the one to enable us to comprehend the other ; 
not extinguishing our faculties, but our pride ; not laying 
our understanding asleep, but casting it at the foot of the 
cross. We have dwelt on this point the more, from having 
©bserved, that some religious persons are apt to speak with 
contempt of great natural endowments as if they were not 
the gift of God, but of some inferior power: the prudently 
pious, on the other hand, while they use them to the end 
for which they were conferred, keep them in due subordi- 
nation, and restrict them to their proper office. Abili- 
ties are the gift of God, and next to his grace, though with 
an immense interral, his best gift ; but are never 80 truly 



72 ON PARABLE. 

estimable as when they are dedicated to promote his glory. 

Our heavenly Instructor, still more to accommodate his 
parables to the capacities of his audience, adopted the 
broad line of instruction conveyed under a few strong fea- 
tures of general parallel, a few leading points of obvious 
coincidence, without attending to petty exactnesses, or 
stooping to trivial niceties of correspondence. We are not, 
therefore, to hunt after minute resemblances, nor to cavil 
at slight discrepancies. We should rather imitate his ex- 
ample, by confining our illustration to the more important 
circumstances of likeness instead of raising such as are insig- 
nificant into undue distinction. This critical elaboration, 
this amplifying mode, which ramifies a general idea into 
all the minutiae of parallel, would only serve to divert the 
attention, and split it into so many divisions, that the main 
object would be lost sight of. 

The author once heard a sermon which had for its text, 
u Ye are the salt of the earth." The preacher, a really 
good man, but wanting this discretion, not contented with 
a simple application of the figure, instead of a general allu- 
sion to the powerfully penetrating and correcting nature 
of this mineral, instead of observing that salt was used In 
all the ancient sacrifices, indulged himself in a wide range^ 
chemical and culinary, of all the properties of salt, devoting 
a separate head to each quality. A long discussion on Its 
antiseptic properties, its solution and neutralization, led to 
rather a luxurious exhibition of the relishes it communi- 
cates to various viands. On the whole, the discourse seem- 
ed better adapted for an audience composed of the authors 
«f the Pharmacopoeia, or a society of cooks, than for a 
plain un technical congregation. 

But to return. — Who can reflect without admiration on 
the engaging variety with which the great Teacher labours 
to impress every important truth ? Whenever different 
aspects of the same doctrine were likely still more for 
to seize the attention, still more deeply to touch the h 



ON PARABLE. 75 

still more powerfully to awaken the conscience, he does 
not content himself with a single allegory. In his awful 
exhibition of the inestimable value of an immortal soul, He 
does not coolly describe the repentance of a single sinner 
as viewed with complacency by the highest order of creat- 
ed intelligences, but as adding** joy' to bliss already per- 
fected in immortality. He does not limit his instruction to 
one metaphorical illustration of the delight of the heavenly 
hosts, but extends it to three, finishing the climax by that 
most endearing and touching of all moral and allegorical 
pictures, the restoration of the prodigal to his father's love. 

But this triple use of the same species of allegory — each 
instance rising above the other, in beauty and in force, 
each adding fresh weight to one momentous point — he most 
emphatically employs in the last discourse previous to his 
final suffering we mean in his sublime illustration of the 
solemnities of the last day, in three successive parables ail 
tending to impress the same awful truth. 

As he well knew every accessible point of the human 
heart, so there was none which he did not touch. But 
the grand circumstance which carjed his instruction so di« 
rectly home to the hearts 'and consciences of men, was, 
that he not only taught, but " did all things well." Mis 
doctrines were so digested into his life, his instructions so 
melted into his practice, that it rendered goodness visible 
as well as perfect \ and these analogies and resemblances 
were not only admirably, but uniformly correspondent. 
He did not content himself like those heathen philosophers, 
to whose affable conduct in society that of the blessed 
Redeemer has lately been so impiously compared, (though 
their motives differed, as much as the desire of converting 
sinners differs from delighting in them,) with exhibiting 
systems without morals, and a rule without a pattern, but 
the purity and perfection of his divine character gave light 
to knowledge, and life to document. 



(74) 
CHAP. VI. 

CN THE PARAELE OF THE TAIEM5 

Our Lord's parables had been sometimes indicative of exis- 
ting circumstances ; sometimes predictive of events which 
related to futurity.^ After having, in his preceding allego- 
ries, by practical lessons, encouraged the prepared, and 
-exhorted the unprepared, to look for the kingdom of God, 
he closed his parabolical * instructions by an awful exhibi* 
tion of their fitness or unfitness for that everlasting king- 
dom ; in which he unfolds what their condition will be* 
when all mystery, all instruction, all preparation, shall be 
at an end : when every act of every being shall be laid as bare 
fcefore the eyes of the whole assembled world, as it was seen 
in its commission by his, from whom nothing is hid. The 
last of these three prophetic scenes is indeed not so much 
a parable as a picture ; not so much an allegory as a literal 
representation : the solemn reality rises above all figure, 
and could never have been so forcibly conveyed as by this 
plain, yet most sublime, delineation. 

The conclusion immediately to be drawn from the second 
of these parables, the parable of the Talents, is, that we 
Lave nothing that is properly our own, nothing that is 
underived from God. Every talent is a deposit placed in 
our hands, not for our exclusive benefit, but for the good 
of others. Whatever we possess which may either be 
improved to God's glory or perverted to his dishonour, 
comes within the description of a talent. To use any of 
our possessions, therefore, as if we had an independent 
right to the disposal of them, is to usurp the prerogative 
of the Giver. Many, it is to be feared, will wait till 
that great disclosing day which will throw a blaze of light 
on all motives, as well as all actions, before they will be 
* See Matthew xx*<. 



OF THE TALENTS. 7'S 

convinced of the fallacy of that popular maxim, that a man 
may do what he will with his own. He has indeed a full 
right to his proprietorship with respect to other men, but, 
with respect to God, he will find he had no exclusive 
property. Whatever portion of his possessions conscience 
ought to have turned over from vanity to charity, from 
sensuality to piety, he may find, too late, was not his own, 
but his who gave it him for other purposes. 

God proportions his requisitions to his gifts. The one 
is regulated by the measure of the other. As duties and 
obligations are peculiar and personal^ we are not to trench 
on the sphere of others. It is of our own talent, we must 
render our own aecount. A capacity, however, to know 
our duty, and to love and serve God, as they are indiscrim- 
inately bestowed, so the inquiry into the use made of them 
will be universal, while the reward or punishment will be 
individually assigned. 

Deficiency and excess are the Scylla and Charybdis 
between which we seldom steer safely. If our talents are 
splendid, we are subject to err on the side of display ; if mean, 
totally to suppress their exercise, apologizing for our indo- 
lence by our insignificance ; but mediocrity of talents is as in- 
sufficient an excuse for sloth, as superior genius is for vanity. 
The true way would be, to exercise the brightest facul- 
ties with humility, and the most inconsiderable with fidelity. 
The faithful and highly gifted servants in the parable, it is 
apparent, were so far from being lifted into pride, or seduc- 
ed into negligence, by the greater importance of the trust 
committed to them, that they considered the largeness of 
their agency as an augmentation of their responsibility. 
They did the will of their lord without conditioning or 
debating. Their slothful associate, instead of . doing it, 
contented himself with arguing about it. He who disputed 
much, had done nothing: he should have known that 
Christianity is not a matter of debate, but of obedience. 

There is no one doctrine of Holy Scripture either in- 



n ON THE PARABLE 

significant or merely theoretical. That which the parable 
teaches, is highly and specially practical. The instruction 
to, be deduced from it, is as extensive as the gifts of God to 
hia creatures, as the obligations of man to his benefactor. 
It is most especially practical, as it designates this world to 
be a scene of business, action, exertion, diligence. It in- 
culcates the high and complicated duty, of laying out our- 
selves for the glory of our Maker, and the exercise of an im- 
plicit obedience to his will. God has not given us the com^ 
mandto work, without furnishing us with instruments with 
which to labour, ar,d suitable materials to work upon. Our 
talents, such as riches, power, influence, wisdom, learning 
time, are those instruments. The wants, helplessness, 
and ignorance of mankind, are the objects to which these 
instruments are to be applied. These talents are bestowed 
in various proportions, as to their value, as well as in dif- 
ferent degrees, as to the' quantity and number. He who 
is favoured with more abundant endowments, should mix 
with his gratitude for the gift, an abiding sense of his own 
greater aecountableness. He who is slenderly furnished, 
should never plead that the inferiority of his trust is an 
excuse for his negligence. The conviction that the Great 
M aster will not exact beyond the propertion^ of his gift, 
though an encouragement to those whom his providence 
has placed in a narrow sphere of usefulness, is no dis- 
charge from their diligence. Is it reasonable, that he 
who has less to do, should therefore do nothing ? When 
little is expected from ue, not to do that little enhances the 
crime ; and it aggravates the ingratitude, when we convert 
©ur master s more moderate demarids into a pretence for 
absolute supineness. 

He who is not called upon to relieve the necessities, or 
to enlighten the ignorance of others, has still a weighty 
work upon his bands : he has the care of his own soul. 
If he is deficient in learning, and natural abilities— if he 
has little credit, and less fortune, he probably has time; 



OF THE TALENTS, 7T 

he certainly has the raeans of religious improvement : so 
that, in this land of light and knowledge, especially now 
that universal instruction is happily beconie a national 
care, there is hardly such a thing as innocent ignorance. 
Even of the lowest, of the least, a strict account will be 
required. To plead ignorance where they rlight have 
been taught, indolence because they had little to do, and 
negligence, because not much was expected, is only trea- 
suring up innumerable reasons for aggravating their con- 
demnation. 

It is remarkable that of the several characters exhibited 
in the parable, the least endowed was the only one punish* 
ed, his neglect being every way inexcusable. A lasting 
and awful lesson, that no inferiority can claim exemption 
from the general law of duty. If the right employment 
of the gift is an encouragement to the poorly endowed, as 
being easily exercised and amply rewarded ; its abuse is an 
awakening call to every one. For, is it not fairly deduci- 
ble from this instance, that if of those whose scale in soci- 
ety is low, whose intellectual powers are mean, or whose 
fortunes are narrow ; if even of such, a strict account will 
be required, if even in these, mere deficiency was so 
harshly reprobated, mere nullity was so severely punished. 
— a sentence of most tremendous import must await those 
who employ rank and opulence to selfish and corrupt end?, 
or genius to pernicious purposes ; the one debasing their 
own minds by sensuality, or corrupting others by exam- 
ples of vice and prodigality; the other, devoting ability :•■? 
so great, with profligacy so notorious, as to appear little 
less than " archangel ruined," and drawing inferior spirits 
into the destruction in which they have plunged them- 
selves. 

But again : — If these several talents, individually con- 
ferred, when employed to wrong purposes, or not employed 
at all, will be rigorously punished : what sentence tare 
' key to expect ? in whom is centered tbe splendid con ft if 

G 2 



78 ON THE PARABLE. 

ence of God's gifts ? What will be the eternal anathema 
pronounced on those who possessed aggregately talents, 
with every one of which, singly enjoyed, they might have 
rendered the world about them better and happier ? ■ To 
reflect by whom they were bestowed, to what end design- 
ed; how tlley have been used, and what a reckoning 
awaits them, forms a combination of reflections too awful 
to be dwelt upon. From the anticipation of ?uch compli- 
cated woe we turn with terror. The bare idea of a pun- 
ishment which shall always torment, and never destroy, is 
insupportable. Yet how many believe this without being 
influenced by the belief ! How many, by an unaccountable 
delusion, refuse to conform tiieir lives to the injunctions of 
the gospel, while they put their vices under the protection 
of its promises. 

The parable informs us, that it was " after a long time," 
that the Lord required the account ; so long, that the wick- 
ed think it will never come, and even the good are apt to 
persuade themselves that it will not come soon. Let not 
those, however who are sitting at ease in their possessions, 
whether of nature or of fortune, to speak after the manner 
of men, fancy that the reckoning which is delayed is for- 
gotten. The more protracted the account, the larger will 
be the sum total, and, of course, the more severe the requi- 
sition. All delay, indeed, is an act of mercy ; but mercy 
neglected, or abused, will enhance punishment in propor- 
tion as it aggravates guilt. 

It is obvious that the servants in the parable had been 
in the habit of attending to their mercies. They seem 
Fiever to have been unmindful of the exact value of what 
had been committed to them, " Lord, thou deliveredst 
unto me five talents." If we do not frequently enumerate 
the mercies of God to us, we shall be in danger of losing 
sight of the Giver, while we are revelling in the gift; of 
negbcting the application, and forgetting the responsibility. 
Ws should recollect, that his very employment of us is a 



OF THE TALENTS. 78 

liigh mark of favour ; tiie use he condescends to make of us 
augments our debt, and whenever he puts it in our way 
to serve him. he lays on us a fresh obligation, and confers 
en us an honourable distinction. 

Though he that has most and does most, has but " a few- 
things,'' yet his remuneration shall be immense. It is hi? 
fidelity, and not his success ; his zeal in improving occa- 
sions, and not the number or greatness of the occasions, 
that will be rewarded. There will be an al vays infinite 
disproportion between the work he has done, and the bles- 
ing attending it. 

The expostulation of the unprofitable servant presents 
an awful lesson against distrust in God, and fallacious 
views of his infinitely perfect character. The very motive 
this false reasoner produces in his own vindication, is the 
strongest argument against him. If he " knew" that his 
lord was such a rigorous exactor, that was the very reason, 
why he should not have given in such a negative account, 
" I knew thou wast a hard master." Could a weightier 
argument have been advanced for a directly different con- 
duct? Common prudence might have taught him that, 
with such a master, his only security was assiduous indus- 
try. The want of love of God was at the root of this, as 
it is of all sin. 

How many listen to the sentence of this unworthy ser- 
vant ' How many allow the equity of his exclusion, and 
yet how few, comparatively, ask, with the agitated Apos- 
tles ; " Lord, is it I ?" This simple question, honestly put, 
and practically followed up, would render all comment 
vain, all exhortation superfluous. This self-application is 
the great end of the parable, the great end of Scripture, 
the great end of preaching, and the only end of hearing. 

But do not too many of us, like him we are so ready to 
condemn, conceal our self-love under the assumption of 
modesty, and indulge our sloth under the humble pretence 
that we have no talent to exercise? Rut let us be assured 



SO OH THE PARABLE. 

it is the deadness of our spiritual affections, and not cm 
mean opinion of ourselves, that is the real cause. The ser- 
vice of God is irksome, because his commands interfere with 
our self-indulgence. Let the lowly Christian, possessed of 
but his single talent, cheer his fainting heart by that beauti- 
fully condescending plea, with which the compassionate Sa- 
viour vindicated the modest penitent, who had no other 
way of demonstrating her affection but by pouring per- 
fumes on his feet — she hath done what she could. 
A tenderness of encouragement, which, if we consider by 
whom it was uttered, and to whom addressed, must convey 
consolation to the heart of the most poorly endowed and 
self-abasing Christian. 

In giving in the final account of the use we have made 
of our talents, we shall not only have to reckon for the 
Christian knowledge we really acquired, for the progress 
we actually made in piety, for the good- impressions we re- 
ceived or communicated, but for the higher degrees of all 
which we might have received or imparted, had we, instead 
of squandering our talents on inferior objects, carried them 
to the height of which they were susceptible. Had we 
acted up to our convictions, had we pushed our advantages 
to their possibilities, had we regularly pursued what we 
eagerly engaged in, had our progress kept pace with our 
resolution, our attainments with our opportunities, how- 
much more profitable servants we might have been ! But 
satisfied to stop short of great offences, we neglect to im- 
press upon our consciences how large a portion of our reck- 
oning will be of a negative character. 

From natural feeling, from inward consciousness, from 
the notices of reason, the traces of hereditary opinion, and 
the analogy of things, independently of Revelation, we 
cannot avoid the belief that we are accountable beings. 
Our notions of right and wrong, of equity and judgment, 
•ur insuppressible forebodings, our fearful anticipations, the 
suggestions cf Statural conscience, all unite their several 



OF THE TALENTS. H 

forces to fasten on the mind the belief that we shall be cal- 
led to a definite account Our intelligent nature, our ration- 
al powers, our voluntary agency, make us suitable subjects 
of God's moral government. His wisdom, power, omni- 
science, rectitude and justice, render him supremely tit to 
be our final judge, and the dispenser of our eternal awards. 
But God, in his infinite goodness, has not, in this most im- 
portant point, left us to the bare light of unassisted nature ; 
he has not left us to be tossed about without rudder, or 
compass, on the boundless ocean of harassing conjecture. 
He has not abandoned us to the alternation of vain fears 
and unfounded hopes ; to the sickly suggestions of a trou- 
bled fancy, the cruel uncertainties of doubt, and the cheer- 
less darkness of ignorance. The expectation of a day of 
retribution is not the gloomy reverie of the superstitious, 
nor the wild vision of the enthusiastic. He who cannot lie 
has solemnly assured us, that he has appointed a day in 
which he will judge the world by that Man whom He has 
sent, Christ Jesus. 

The coming of this great day, which nature suspected, 
and reason allowed, Scripture confirms, it will at length 
arrive. The scrutiny so graphically exhibited by our Lord, 
will be realized in all its pomp of terrors. The sea shall 
give up its dead, and death and hell shall deliver up the 
dead which are in them, and every man shall be judged ac- 
cording to his works. And the dead, small and great shall 
stand before God, and the judgment shall be set, and the 
books opened, and the dead shall be judged out of those 
things which are written in the books, according to their 
works. 

This .universal examination into the human character, 
this critical dissection of the heart of man, from the first 
created being to him who shall be caught up alive in the 
air at Christ's second coming, shall infallibly take place. 

Blessed be Almighty forbearance, it is still in the power 
of every existing child of Adam to lighten to himself hl$ 



82 ON THE PARABLE, 

apprehensions of that day. He may do more \ he may 
convert terror into transport, by acting now as if he really 
believed it would one day come ; by acting as he shall 
then wish he had acted. If " the terrors of the Lord per- 
suade men," what effect should his mercy produce ; that 
mercy which has given the universal warning to the whole 
human race in three consentaneous Parables, exhibited 
with a spirit of truth more resembling historic narrative, 
than prophetic anticipation ! There is not one living being 
who now reads this page from whom that day is distant ; 
to some it must be very near; to none perhaps nearer, 
than to her who now tremblingly presumes to raise the 
warning voice ; — to her, to all, it is tremendously awful. 
Let none of us, then, content ourselves with a barren ad- 
miration of its solemnities, as if it were an affecting scene 
of a tragedy, invented to move the passions without recti- 
fying them °, to inspire terror, without quickening repen- 
tance. Let us not be struck by it as with a wonderful fact 
in history, which involves the interest of some one coun« 
try with which we have no particular concern ; or of some 
remote century disconnected with that in which our lot is 
cast. It is the personal, the individual, the everlasting 
concern of every rational being through all the rolls of 
time, till time shall be no more. It is the final, unalterable 
decision on the fate of every intelligent, and, therefore, 
every accountable creature, to whom God has revealed his 
will ; to whom he has sent his Son, to whom he has offer- 
ed the aid of his Spirit. 

No wonder that the universal administration of final 
justice shall be manifested in the most awful pomp and 
splendor — no wonder that it will be equally a scene of an- 
guish and of transport ; when it will, on the one hand, as 
much exceed the terrors of guilt, as it will, on the other, 
transcend the hopes of faith — when the eternal Son of the 
eternal Father, in the full brightness of his glory, shall be 
the judge ; when the whole assembled universe shall be the 



OF THE TALENTS. 83 

subjects of judgment — when not only the deeds of every 
life, but the thoughts of every heart, shall be brought to 
light — when, if we produce our works, the recording book 
will produce our motives — when every saint who acted as 
seeing Him who is invisible, shall not only see but share 
the glopy in which he trusted ; when the hypocrite shall be- 
hold him whom he believed without trusting, and mocked 
without deceiving ; when the profligate shall witness the 
reality of what he feared, and the infidel shall feel the cer- 
tainty of what he denied. 



(U) 

CHAP. VII, 
6n influence, considered as a talent. 






It is at best but a selfish sort of satisfaction, though the 
poet calls it a delightful one, to see others tossed about in a 
8torm y while we are sitting in security, rejoicing, not because 
they are in danger, but because we are safe. Christianity 
instructs us to improve on the sentiment. It teaches us to 
extract not only comfort and gratification from the compa- 
rison of our happier lot with that of the less favoured ; but 
in making the comparison, it reminds us to make it with 
reference to God, by emphatically asking, " Who is it that 
maketh us to differ P* 

But if we look around, not only on the external but on 
the moral and mental distinctions among mankind, and 
consider the ignorance, the miseries, and the vices of others 
as a ground for our more abundant gratitude ; what sort 
of feeling will be excited in certain persons by a sight and 
sense of those miseries, those vices, and that ignorance, of 
which their own influence, or example, or neglect has been 
the cause ? If we see any unhappy whom we might have 
relieved, any ignorant whom we ought to have instructed, 
any corrupt whose corruptions we never endeavoured to 
reform, but whom, perhaps, we have contributed to make 
what they are ; in either of these cases, it is difficult to 
conceive any state of mind less susceptible of comfort, any 
circumstance more calculated to excite compunction. These 
instances may help men to a pretty just criterion by w hich 
to judge of their own character, since it is certain they never 
feit any true gratitude for their own mercies, who can look 
with indifference on either the temporal or spiritual distres- 
ses of others. And if no one ever truly mourned for his 
own sins who can be insensible to the sins of those around 
him, so no one can be earnest to promote his own Fslvation, 



ON INFLUENCE. 85 

who neglects any fair opening of contributing to the salva- 
tion of others. 

What an appalling reflection it is, that at the tremend- 
ous bai^ a being already overwhelmed with the weight of 
his own offences, may have to sustain the addition of the 
amazing and unexpected load of all those, of which he has 
been the cause in 'others ! What an awful contrast will be 
^ presented to the assembled universe, when certain com- 
manding characters shall stand forth, burdened net only 
with their personal guilt, nor evea with the sins of their 
f immediate connections, but in a certain measure with the 
sins of their age and country ; while others, who devoted 
similar talents and influence to opposite purposes, shall ap- 
pear gloriously surrounded with happy spirits, of whose fe- 
licity they have been the instruments ; their shining crowns 
- made brighter by imparted brightness, by goodness which 
flourished under their auspices, by virtues which were the 
effect of their patronage, by piety which was the fruit of 
their example. 

Influence is a talent not only of undefmable but of 
universal extent. Who is there so insignificant as not to 
have his own circle, greater ,or smaller, made better or 
worse, by his society, his conduct, his counsels? That 
presumptuous but common consolation of a dying bed, I" 
have done no harm to any one, is always the fallacious re- 
fuge of such as have done little or no good. Man is no 
such neutral being. 

It is not the design of the present considerations to insist 
so much on the more striking and conspicuous instances of 
misemployed influence, (for the ordinary state of life does 
not incessantly call them into action,") as on those overlook- 
ed, though not unimportant demands for its exertion, 
which occur in the every-day transactions of mankind, 
more especially among the opulent and the powerful. 

Rank and fortune confer an influence the most con*- 
manning. All objects attract the more notice from being 

H 



86 O'N INFLUENCE. 

placed on an eminence, and do not excite the less attention*,. 
because they may deserve less admiration. In anticipating 
the scrutiny that will hereafter be made into the manner 
in which the rich and great have employed their influence, 
that powerful engine put into their hands for the noblest 
purposes, may wfe not venture to wish they had some disin- 
terested friend, less anxious to please than to serve them, 
who would honestly, as occasion might offer, interrogate 
them in a manner something like the following : — 

" Allow me, as a friend to your immortal interests, to 
ask you a few plain questions. Has-- your power been uni- 
formly employed in discouraging injustice, in promoting 
particular as well as general- good ; in countenancing reli- 
gious as well as charitable institutions ; in protecting the 
pious, as well as in assisting the indigent? Has your in- 
fluence been conscientiously exerted in^vindicating injured 
merit ; has it been employed in defending insulted worth 
against the indolence of the unfeeling, the scorn of the 
unworthy, the neglect of the unthinking ? Has it beett 
exercised in patronizing modest genius, which would, 
without your fostering hand, have sunk in obscurity ? 

" Have you, in the recommendations which have been 
required of you, had an eye to the suitableness of the can- 
didate for the place, rather than to a provision for an un- 
worthy applicant, to the injury of the office? And have 
you honestly preferred the imperative claims of the insti- 
tution to the solicitations, or even to the wants, of the 
individual ? Have you never loaded a public, or injured 
a private, establishment, by appointing an unfit agent, be- 
cause he was a burden c» your own hands, or a charge on 
your own purse.? Have you never promoted a servant 
who l>ad " wasted your goods," and with whom you parted 
for that very reason, to the superintendence of a charity, 
or to the management of an office, where you knew he 
would have a wider sphere", and a more uncontrolled pqw-. 
sr, c,C purloining public property; or wasting private bo"u$? 



ON INFLUENCE, • 87 

ty, than in that from which your prudence had discharged 
him? 

To rise a step higher :— " Have you never, if intrusted 
with a patronage over that peculiarly sacred office, " which 
any one may well tremble to give, or to receive," been go- 
verned by a spirit of nepotism in the disposal of it, which 
you perhaps severely censure under a certain other estab- 
lishment most obviously corrupt ? Have you never been 
engaged in promoting men, who, from their destitution of 
principle, are a dishonour to the profession in which you 
have been raising them, or, by the want of abilities, are 
disqualified for it ? Have you never connived at the prefer- 
ment of the weak or the wicked, to the exclusion of others 
whose virtues and talents eminently fitted them for the sit- 
uation? Or, have you, rather, strenuously laboured to 
iix the meritorious in the place they w r ere so qualified to 
fill, while you supplied the wants of the undeserving or in- 
competent relative out of your own purse ? And have 
you habitually made a conscience of recommending ade- 
quate persons in preference- to the unworthy and the 
unfit, though the latter belonged to your own little senate, 
or swelled your own large train ? 

" Have you habitually borne in mind that important, 
"but disregarded, maxim, that what you do by another is 
<lone by yourself; and not only carefully avoided oppres- 
sion in your own person, but, rising superior to that selfish 
indolence, the bane, the grave of every nobler quality, 
have you been careful that your agents do not exercise a 
tyranny which you yourself abhor, but which may be car- 
ried on under your name? Your ignorance of such injus- 
tice will be of little avail, if, through supineness, you have 
sanctioned abuses which vigilance might have prevented, 
or exertion punished. 

" Have you unkindly denied access to your presence to 
the diffident solicitor, who has no other channel to prefer- 
ment but your favour ; and if not able to serve him, have 



38 QN INFLUENCE'. 

you softened you? refusal by feelingly participating in hfc 
disappointment, instead of aggravating it by refusing to 
see and soothe him, when you could do no more I Bare 
you considered that, to listen to wearisome applications 
and pertinacious claims, is among the drawbacks of comfort 
necessarily appended to youi? station ? To examine into 
interfering pretensions, while it is a duty you owe to the 
applicant, is a salutary exercise of patience to yourself ; 
it is also the only certain means you possess t>f distinguish- 
ing the meritorious from the importunate."' 

We dwell on this part of the subject the more earnestly, 
because it is to be feared that even the tender- hearted and 
the benevolent, from the facility of a yielding temper, 
from weariness of importunity, from a wish to spare their 
own feelings, as well as from a too natural desire to get rid 
of trouble, are frequently induced to confer and to refuse 
favours, not only against their principle? and their judg- 
ment, but against their will. Yet as no virtue is ever pos- 
sessed in perfection by him who is destitute of its opposite, 
■ — Have you been equally careful, never, for the sake of 
popularity or the love of ease, to awaken false hopes, and 
keep alive false expectations in your retainers, though you 
knew you had no prospect of ever making them good ?— 
thus committing your own honour for the sake of swelling 
the catalogue of your dependents ; and, by insincerity and 
Indecision, feeding them with delusive promises, when a 
firm negative, by extinguishing hope, might have put them 
on a more successful pursuit. 

Some striking instances of delicate liberality, recorded 
of a late lamented statesman, have shown, that it is not 
too much to expect from human nature, that a man should 
exert his influence for the benefit of another, even though 
it were to his own disadvantage, and that he should be not 
only willing, but desirous, not to procure for himself the 
gratitude of the obliged person, nor to obtain his admira- . 
t'icn j but would be contented, that, while he himself afford- 



ON INFLUENCE. S3 

«d all the benefit, an intervening agent should have all the 
credit. This disinterestedness is among the nicer criteria 
of a Christian spirit. 

While we can with truth assign the mosi liberal praise 
to that spirit of charity which preen: . 

the present period, we are compelled to lament that justice 
is not held in equal estimation by so give 

the law to manners. This considerably diminishes their 
influence, because it is the quality which, of all others, 
they most severely require in their dependants, as being 
that which is most immediately connected with their own 
interest. And how far from equitable is it. to blame and 
punish the statutable offence in petty men, whose breach 
of integrity is unhappily facilitated by continual oppor- 
tunity, or induced by the -pressure of want, while the 
rigorous exacter of justice is as defective in the practice, 
as he is strict in the requisition ? 

The species of injustice alluded to, consists much in that 
laxity of principle which admits of a scale of expence 
disproportioned to the fortune : this creates the inevitable 
necessity of remaining in heavy arrears to those who can 
ill afford to give long credit : in return, it induces in the 
creditor the habit, and almost the necessity, of enhancing 
the price of his commodity. The evil would be little, if 
the encroachment were only felt by those whose tardy pay- 
ment renders exorbitance almost pardonable : but others, 
who practise the most exact justice, are involved in the 
penalty, without partaking in the offence ; and the correct 
are taxed for the improbity of the dilatory. This dilapi- 
dating habit leads to an indolence in inspecting accounts ; 
and the increasing unwillingness to examine into debts, 
increases the inability to discharge them ; for debt?, like 
sins, become more burdensome in proportion as people ne- 
glect to inquire into them. Perhaps there is no instance 
of misconduct which tends more directly to diminish in- 
flue&be than the imprudence of contracting d^ais, and 
H3 



QO ON INFLUENCE. 

the irregularity and consequent injustice of which it is 
sometimes unintentionally the cause. 

And here, if we might be allowed a remark somewhat 
foreign to our immediate subject, it may be observed, that 
the low conception of ju ace of which we complain lias 
infected not only morals, but religion; cr rather, what be- 
gan in cur principle toward,- God. extends to ouj^ractice 
towards man. It is the attribute of which we TPake the 
least scruple to rob the Almighty : for it is a fashionable, 
though covert, mode of arraigning his justice, when we 
affect *o exalt his character by it him as too 

merciful to punish. Justice is not only eminently conspicuous- 
in her own central station, but give.* life and light to other 
■attributes By cutting off superfluous expences, temper- 
ance and sobriety grow out of justice ; and, what is subtract- 
/ed from luxury, is carried over, without additional expence* 
td the account of beneficence. 

The Holy Scriptures lay Clown some precise and indis- 
pensable rules for the practice of justice, while they leave 
great latitude, at least as to the selection of its individual 
acts, to "charity. Justice can be maintained only by this 
distinct demand and rigid acquiescence, while charity 
would lose the nature and quality of benevolence, if it 
were under any such express and definite rules. Charity 
may chuse her object, but those of justice are chosen for 
her. It was doubtless, in mercy, that no absolute rule or 
limitation is made respecting charity, that we might have 
the gratification of a voluntary delight in its exercise, 
for our nature is, in this respect, so kindly constituted, that, 
m minds not peculiarly ill -formed, the call to beneficence ig 
the call to enjoyment. 

Bui to return. — The influence of the great, " the 
observed of all observers," descends into the social walks 
of life. The pinnacle on which they stand, makes their 
most trivial actions, and even words, objects of attention 
and imitation to those beneath them. The conscious! 



ON INFLUENCE. 0,1 

of this should be an additional motive for avoiding, in 
their ordinary conversation, not only what is corrupt, but 
whatever savours of levity and imprudence \ the vanity of 
the little world is ready, not from mischief, but self-import- 
ance, to convert the thoughtless slips of the great into 
consequence ; their most frivolous remarks are quoted, 
merely that the quoter may seize the only occasion lie 
could «?er tind of shewing that he has been admitted to 
their company. This harmless little stratagem holds out a 
strong motive for those whose condition in life makes them 
subjects of observation, occasionally to let fall something 
that may be remembered, not merely because they said it, 
but because it was w r orth saying. This remark applies to 
superiority of talents, to be considered in our next head,, 
still more than of rank. 

As the great and noble are sufficiently disposed to look 
with reverted eye back to their ancestral honours, it w r ere 
to be wished that they were all as ready, as we are happy 
to say some of them are, to cast the same careful retrospect 
to the ancient usages of their illustrious houses. There 
was a time when family- devotion was considered as a kind 
of natural appendage to high rank, when domestic wor- 
ship was almost as inseparably connected with the aristoc- 
racy, as the church with the state. The chapel was as 
much a pail of the splendid establishment as the state-room, 
When the form of piety was thus kept up, the reality was 
more likely to exist. Even the appearance was a homage 
to religion, the very custom was an honourable recognition 
of Christianity. But, in the way of influence, it must have 
been of high importance ; the domestics would have their 
sense of duty kept alive, and would with more alacrity 
serve those who they saw served God. It was a bond of 
political, as well as of moral union ; it was the only occa* 
sion on which " the rich and poor meet together." There 
is something of a coalescing property in social worship. 
In acknowledging their common dependance on theis 



$2 ON INFLUENCE. 

common master, this equality of half an hour would be 
likely to promote subordination through the rest of the 
day. Take it in an inferior point of view, it was a useful 
discipline, it was a family muster-roll, a sort of domestic pa- 
rade, which regularly brought the privates before their 
commanding officers, and maintained order as well as de- 
tected absence. It was also calculated to promote the 
interests of the superiors, by periodically reminding their 
dependants of their duty to God, which necessarily involves 
every human obligation. 

We come now to speak, though cursorily, of another 
deposit of talent, not less extensive in its immediate effects 
and far more important in its consequences ; the influence 
of Genius and Learning. As the influence of well-directed 
talents is too obvious to require animadversion, we shall 
confine our brief remarks to their contrary direction. If 
We could suppose the man whose talents had, by pernicious 
principles, been diverted from their right channel,to have, 
at the close of life, that clear view of his own character, 
and the misapplication of his mental powers, which will be 
presented to him when he opens^ hfe eyes on eternity, we 
should witness as complete a contrast with his present 
feelings as any too opposite descriptions of character could 
exhibit. 

Of all the various sentences to be awarded at the dread 
tribunal, can imagination figure one more severe than 
will be pronounced against the polluted and polluting wit ; 
the noblest faculties turned into arms against him who 
gave them, the eloquence which would scarcely have dis- 
paraged the tongue of angels, converted to the rhetoric of 
3aell? The mischief of a corrupt book is indefinite, both 
in extent and duration. When the personal example of the 
writer has done its worst, and has only ruined his friends 
and neighbours, the operation of an unprincipled work 
may be but just beginning. It is a sin, the commission of 
which carries in it more of t£e character of its infernal in* 



OF INFLUENCE. 9£ 

spirer than any other. It is a crime not prompted by 
appetite, kindled by passion, or provoked by temptation : 
but a gratuitous, voluntary, cold-blooded enormity, the 
offspring of intellectual wickedness, the child of spiritual 
depravity; tke deepest sin without the slightest excuse. 
Sins of surprize have infirmity to plead, but, in this frigid 
viilany, the badness of the motive keeps pace with the 
turpitude of the act. The intention is to offend God, the 
project is to ruin man ; the aim is to poison the temporal 
peace, the design is to murder the everlasting hope of 
all who come in contact with it. 

But the exclusive application of talents to subjects per- 
fectly unexceptionable, and right and valuable, as far as 
they go, is sometimes an occasion in which we might mingle 
regret with admiration. We view with reverence the 
profound scholar, a man, so far from having lost any time 
in trifling, whose very amusements are labours, and whose 
relaxation is intensity of thought, and sedulity of study, 
By unremitting diligence, he has been daily adding fresh 
stores to his ponderous mass of erudition, or periodically 
presenting new tomes to the literary world, in return for 
those he has rifled. But, put the case, that such a man 
has never so much as conceived the thought of lending to 
religion his weight of character or the influence of his 
reputation, by devoting some little interval to a moral or 
religious speculation , has never once entertained the idea 
of occasionally directing his treasures of learning, into any 
channel which leads to the country where he and his 
volumes together, the durable register of his life, are soon 
about to land,-— Who can forbear, in the contemplation of 
such a possible character, regretting that his too moderate 
ambition should be satisfied with the applause of an age or 
an island, without once exercising his talents on some topic 
which might have included the concerns 'of his whole spe- 
cies, which might have embraced the interests of both 
worlds? Who can forbear lamenting, that he has risen go 



94 ©N INFLUENCE. 

high without reflecting that, in a moral sense, " one step 
higher would set him highest;" that he should have been 
«ontented with the idolatrous worship of some Pagan sage 
as editor orannotator; and, for that humble meed, to relin- 
quish the duty of glorifying his Maker, by instructing his 
fellow-creatures ; as if that were a less splendid object, an 
inferior concern to be turned over to inferior abilities, and 
to which inferior abilities were adequate ? 

If the awful apprehension of a future account could, at the? 
close of life, lead even the illustrious Grotius, who had with 
equal ability cultivated both secular and sacred studies, to 
Wish that he could change characters with a poor pious pea- 
sant, who used to spend most of his time in reading the Bible 
at his gate, what may finally be the wish of those who, having 
quitted a far less useful life without any such contrite con- 
fession, are brought to witness at once the retribution as- 
signed to the conscientious use of one solitary talent, and 
to feel that awarded to their own vast but abused allot- 
ment? That awakening parable of the Divine Teacher 
which presents so terrible a view of the " great gulf" which 
irrevocably separated two other neighbours, whose respec- 
tive lots in worldly circumstances resembled the distinction^ 
of intellect in the preceding instance — that " gulf" which 
eternally divided the holy beggar from the opulent sensual- 
ist — is equally applicable to the present case. If any thing 
could deepen or widen a barrier already hopelessly impassa- 
ble, might it not be the substitution of ill-applied abilities 
for misemployed riches ?* 

An affecting thought involuntarily forces itself upon us, 
on the departure of distinguished genius. All those shining 
talents which had hitherto too exclusively filled our minds y 
sink at once in our estimation, because we know they are 
now nothing to their possessor but as they were used, worse 
than nothing if they were not used wisely. In the court 
Vffcere he now stands for trial, neither the cogent argument 
* L**ao <me apply thst^o «fee great statesman of Holland, 



OS INFLUENCE* 95 

nor the pointed wit can secure his acquittal; happy if they 
appear not strong evidences against it. The qualities of 
his heart, which perhaps, dazzled by those of his head, we 
had not taken into the account — his errors having been lost 
in his brightness— now come forward as the others recede. 
Our feelings are solely occupied with what may be now 
available to him to whom we have owed pleasure or in- 
formation. That fame which we lately thought so solid a 
good, seems now a painted cloud melting into air — that 
proud for ever for which he wrote, seems dwindled to a 
point — that visionary immortality which he had assigned as 
his meed, compared with the eternity on which he has en- 
tered, is become less than the shadow to the substance, less 
than the halo to the sun. 

This idea strikes the mind with peculiar forcp, upon the 
recent decease of two writers of uncommon reacltof thought^ 
profound research, and unbounded philological learning, 
Had these two eminent men been possessed pf inferior 
minds, or a more dubious fame, their death would have 
sounded the signal of silence, no less to the moralist than 
to the satyrist, as to the gross sensuality and corrupt prin- 
ciples of the one, the avowed atheism and profligate poli- 
tical doctrines of the other. As it is, we cannot but refer 
to them, though with feelings of pungent regret, and only 
under a strong sense of the atonement which such examples 
owe to the world for the mischief they do it, as a melan- 
choly illustration of some of the preceding remarks. It is 
to be feared that the unmixed commendation of their 
talents and erudition, without the gentlest censure of their 
principles and practices, with winch some of our journals 
abounded on the loss of these able but unhappy men, might 
lend to impress the ardent youthful student with an over- 
valuation of genius, un sanctified by Christian principles, of 
erudition undignified by virtuous conduct 

Far, very far, from my heart be the ungenerous thought 
of treating departed eminence with disrespect, but m ana 



96 



ON INFLUENCE. 



lyzing striking characters, is it not a duty to separate " the 
precious from the vile/' lest unqualified admiration, where 
there is such large room for censure, should, while profusely 
embalming the dead, allure the ingenuous living to an imi- 
tation as unlimited as the panegyric was undistinguishing ?* 

* To prevent any mistaken application of these remarks, it may be 
proper to avow that Professor Porson and Mr. Home Tooke are the 
persons to whom they allude. 



i 57 > 



CHAP. VIIL 

©N TIME, CONSIDERED AS A TALENT, 

If we already begin to feel what a large portion of life we 
have improvidently squandered — what days and nights 
have been suffered to waste themselves, if not criminally, 
yet inconsiderately ; if not loaded with evil, yet destitute 
of good — how much time has been consumed in worthless 
employments, frivolous amusements, listless indolence, idle 
reading, and vain imaginations — if things already begin to 
appear wrong, which we once thought at least harmless, 
though not perhaps useful — what appearance will they as- 
sume in that inevitable hour when all things will be seen in 
their true light, and appreciated according to their intrin- 
sic value ? We shall then feel in its full force how often we 
neglected what we knew to be our duty, shunned what we 
were aware was our interest, and declined what we yet be- 
lieved would add to our happiness ; while, with perverted 
energy, we eagerly pursued what we had reason to think 
was contrary to our interest, duty, and happiness. But 
excuses satisfy us now, to which we shall not then give the 
hearing for a moment. The thin disguise which the illu- 
sion of the senses now casts over vanity, sloth, and error, 
will then be as little efficient as consolatory. 

Fie who carefully governs his mind will conscientiously 
regulate his time. To him who thus accurately distributes 
it, who appropriates the hour to its due employment, life 
will never seem tedious, yet counted by this moral arith- 
metic it will be really long. If we compute our time as 
critically as our other possessions ; if we assign its propor- 
tions to its duties, though the divisions will then be so fully 
occupied that they will never drag, yet the aggregate sum 
will be found sufficiently long for all the purposes to which 
ifte is demise*?, 



' 



98 OK TIME. 

It is not a little absurd that they who most wish t> 
abolish time would be the least willing to abridge life. But 
is it not unreasonable to endeavour to annihilate the par- 
cels of which life is composed, and at the same time to have 
a dread of shrinking the stock ? They who most patheti- 
cally lament the want of time, are either persons who 
plunge themselves into unnecessary concerns, or those who 
manage them ill, or those who do nothing. The first cre- 
ate the deficiency they deplore ; the second do not so much 
want time as arrangement ; the last, like brute animals 
laden with gold, groan under the weight of a treasure of 
Which they make no use, and do not know the value. 

They will never make a right use of time who turn it 
over to chance, who live without any definite scheme for its 
employment, or any fixed object for its end. Such desul- 
tory beings will be carried away by every trifle that striken 
the senses, or any whim that seizes the imagination. They 
who live without any ultimate point in view, can have no 
regular process in the steps which lead to it. 

But though in order to preveat confusion, to animate 
torpor, and tame irregularity, it is always a duty to form 
a plan, occasions will arise when it may be a higher duty 
to break it. Both ourselves and our plans must ever be 
kept subject to the will of a higher power. That is an ill- 
regulated mind which wears life away without any settled 
scheme of action ; that is a little mind which makes itself 
a slave to any pre-conceived rule, when a more imperative 
duty may arise to demand its infraction. Providence may 
call us to some work during the day which we did not fore- 
see in the morning. Even a good design must be relinquish- 
ed to make way for a better, nor must we sacrifice a useful 
to a favourite project, nor must we scruple to renounce our 
inclinations at the call of duty or of necessity, for God 
loves a cheerful doer as well as a " cheerful giver." % 

In our use of time we frequently practise a delusion 
which cheats us ©f r,e iiicensuleraMe portion ©f its B&tiisi 



ON TIME. 99 

cajoyftien*:, The now escapes us while we are settling fu- 
ture points not only of business, of ease, or of pleasure, but 
of benevolence, of generosity, of piety. These imaginary 
points to which we impatiently stretch forward in idea, 
we fix at successive but distant intervals, endeavouring by 
the rapid march of a hurrying imagination to anihilate the 
intervening spaces. One great evil of reckoning too abso- 
lutely on marked periods which may never arrive, is, that, 
by this absorption of the mind, we neglect present duties 
in the anticipation of events not only remote but uncertain. 
Even if the anticipated period does arrive, it is not al- 
ways applied to the purpose to which it was pledged ; and 
the event which was to feel the full weight of our interfer- 
' ence and commanding influence, when it has taken place, 
sinks into the undistinguished mass of time and circumstan- 
ces. The point which we once thought, if it ever could be 
attained, would supply abundant matter, not only for pre- 
sent duty or pleasure, but for delightful retrospection, loses 
itself, as we mingle with it, in the common heap of forgotten 
things ; and as we recede from it, merges in the dim obscure 
of faded recollections. Having arrived at the era, instead 
of seizing on that present so impatiently desired while it 
was future, we again send our imaginations out to fresh 
distances in search of fregh deceits. While we are pushing 
it on to objects still more remote, the large uncalculated 
spaces of comfort and peace, or of languor and discontent, 
which fill the chasm, and which we scarcely think worth 
taking into the account, make up far the greater part of 
life. 

All this would be only foolish, and would hardly deserve 
a harsher name, if these large uncultivated wastes, these 
barren interstices, these neglected subdivisions, had not all 
of them imperious demands of their own — if they were not 
to be as rigorously accounted for, as the vivid spots and 
shining prospects whieh promise so raueli aad produce so 
little. 



10P ON TIME. 

Let us not then compute time by particular periods or 
signal events. Let us not content ourselves with putting 
our festal days only into the calendar, but remember that 
from the hour when reason begins to operate, to the hour 
in which it shall be extinguished, every particle of time is 
valuable: that no day can be insignificant, when every 
day is to be accounted for ; that each one possesses weight 
and importance, because of each the retribution is to be re- 
ceived. In the prospect therefore of our coming time, let 
us not make great leaps from the expectation to the occur- 
rence ; but bearing in mind that small concerns make up 
the larger share of life, let us aim to execute well those 
which lie more immediately before us. For the instant oc- 
casion we have life and time in hand, for that which is 
prospective, we may no longer be in possession of either : 
and it is an argument of no small cogency, that he who de- 
Totes time to its best purposes, secures eternity for its best 
enjoyments. 

But we are guilty of the strange inconsistency of being 
most prodigal of what we best love, and of throwing away 
what we most fear to lose, that time of which life is made 
up. If God does not give us a short time, we can contrive 
to make it short by this wretched husbandry. It is not so 
much indigence of time a prodigality in the waste of it, that 
prevents life from answering ail the ends for which it is 
given. Few things make us so independent of the world 
as the prudent disposition of this precious article. It deli- 
vers people from hanging on the charity of others to eman- 
cipate them from the slavery of their own company. We 
should not only be careful not to waste our own time, but 
that others do not rob us of it. The distinction of crime 
between "stealing our purse" and "stealing our good 
name" has been beautifully contrasted. That the purse is 
" trash " is a sentiment echoed by many who yet set n» 
small value on the trash so liberally condemned ; while the 
waster of his own, or the pilferer of another's time, escape 



ON TIME. 101 

a censure which lie ought more heavily to \i\mY, It is a 
felony for which no repentance can make restitution, the 
commodity being not only invaluable but irrecoverable. 

Considerable evil, with respect to the economy of time, 
arises from an error which infects some minds of a superior 
cast — a notion that contempt of order and custom are in- 
dications of genius, that great minds cannot be tied to times, 
r.or enslaved by seasons. They value themselves on being 
systematic only in their disdain of method, on beiag regu- 
lar in nothing but irregularity > with them accident gives 
the law to action. They pride themselves in not deg- 
-patching business but postponing it, and this in order to 
$hew with what ability they can retrieve time to which 
they are ahvays in arrears. From this vanity of intima- 
ting that they can execute in hours what costs slower 
souls days or weeks, the most pressing business is deferred 
to some indefinite period, and duties thus postponed are 
not seldom omitted. 

The«ame confidence in his own powers which leads a 
young man of genius to believe he can catch knowledge 
by intuition, see every thing at a glance, and comprehend 
every thing in a moment, tempts him to put off that mo- 
ment. But if such winders are really to be achieved 
without the old ingredients time and study, what might 
lie not expect would be accomplished with their assistance ? 
Those who are now marvels would then be miracles ! The 
too common consequence of this impatience of application, 
Is to affect, to despise whatever knowledge requires time to 
attain, and to consider whatever demands industry to ac- 
quire, as not worth acquiring. 

Nor is this error monopolized by talents. We have 
known some, who, having no other evidence of genius to 
produce, never failed to be unpunctual. It is a wonder 
,that the more intellectual, seeing their province thus in- 
vaded by dunces, do not become regular through mere con. 
12 



102 on Tittle. 

tempt of their imitators, and abandon the abuse of time i# 
those who know not how to spend it wisely. 

Christianity is a social principle. He who has discovered 
the use of time, and consequently the value of eternity, can- 
not but be solicitous for the spiritual good of hi? fellow* 
creatures. The one, indeed, is indicative of the other. 
But this good, like every other, is not without its dangers. 
We cannot essentially benefit people without associating 
with them, without rendering ourselves agreeable to them. 
But in so doing we should ever recollect that we may seek 
to please till we forget to serve them, we may soften strong 
truths to render them more palatable till we come gradual- 
ly less to recommend them, than ourselves. In the spirit 
of friendly accommodation we may insensibly lower the 
standard of religion, with a view to make ourselves mors 
agreeable, and may deceive in order to conciliate. 

Or we may fall into another error. We may begin at 
the wrong end. We may censure the wrong practice with» 
out any reference to the principle, or we may suit our coun- 
sels, not to the wants, but to the taste, of our friend. In 
our endeavours to promote the good of others, we should be 
careful to find out the points in which they are most defi- 
cient. If their error be ignorance of Scripture, if worldli- 
ness, if prejudice, if a general disinclination to seriousness, 
if a blind respect for religion, joined to an unacquaintedness 
with its doctrines j in each case, a very different mode of 
conduct will be requisite. In each, in ail, we should, indeed, 
with the utmost fairness, lay open the whole scheme of 
Christianity, neither concealing its difficulties, its humbling 
requisitions, nor the self-denials it imposes. But at the 
same time, if we suspect any one truth to be particularly 
revolting to them, it will be more prudent to approach 
this truth gradually through others, from which they are 
less averse, than, by forcing its introduction at the outset, 
shut up the way to farther progress. Every doctrine 
should be unfolded gradually, judiciously, temperately, not 



v3 uat£. i03 

iitsiatiiig oa any paints that are not clearly sculptural, nor 
on any that admit of doubtful disputation, nor on many 
points at a time; and, above all, on none unseasonably, qr 
unceasingly. 

This habit of turning time to account, by endeavouring to 
be useful to others, will, if conducted with mildness, and 
exercised with Christian humility, be eminently beneficial 
to ourselves. It will set us on a closer examination of the 
truths we suggest ; and in contending with blindness and 
self-sufficiency* we shall find a wholesome exercise for our 
own patience and moderation. It may remind us, that we 
were once, perhaps, in the same state. Above all, it will 
put us on a more strict watchfulness over our own hearts 
and lives, lest we should be adopting one set of principles 
for our conversation, and another for our conduct. It will 
Induce the necessity of a more exact consistency, as they, 
to Whom we are counsellors, will not be backward, if we 
furnish them with the least ground, to be our censurers. 

And here I would affectionately suggest to my numerous 
amiable young friends, the benefit to be derived to their 
own minds from turning a certain portion of their time to 
tie personal instruction of the poor, for which so wide a 
field is just now providentially opened. In communicating 
the elements of religious knowledge — in numberless repeti- 
tions of the same plain truths — in being obliged to begin 
again the simple document which they fancied they had long 
ago impressed — in the humbling necessity of lowering their 
ideas, and debasing their language, in order to make them- 
selves intelligible — in the forbearance which dulness of 
intellect, perverseness of temper, and ingratitude demand, 
they may gain some proficiency themselves, even where 
their success with others is least encouraging. 

But to whatever account we turn our time with respect 
to others, the first object of its right employment is with 
ourselves ; and this not only in discharging those exercises 
of piety and virtue, which are too ebvicm* and too gener* 



1€4 ON TIME, 

ally acknowledged, to require to be specified ; but, in atten- 
ding to the sefcrfct dispositions of the mind, in order to 
ascertain its real character. We do not mean to imply 
that we can judge of its state by the thoughts which are 
necessarily suggested by any actual business, or any 
pressing object, such thoughts being the proper demand 
of the occasion, and not any certain indication of oitr abi- 
ding state and habitual temper. But by watching the 
nature' and tendency of our spontaneous thoughts, we 
may, in a great measure, determine on the character of 
our minds ; their voluntary thoughts and unprompted feel- 
lings, being the streams which indicate the fountain whence 
they flow. The heart is that perennial spring ; for, whether 
grace or nature supply the current, the fountain is inexhaus- 
tible. In either case, the more abundantly it flows, the 
more constantly its waste is fed by fresh supplies ; expence, 
instead of exhausting, augments the stream, whether the 
source from earth supply worldly thoughts, or that from 
above such as are heavenly. Thoughts determine on the 
character : as the man thinketh, so is he. 

What a scene will open upon us, when, from our eternal 
state, we shall look back on the use we have made of time I 
What a revolution will be wrought in our opinions ! What 
a contrast will be exhibited, when we shall take a clear 
retrospect of all we have done, and all we ought to have 
done ! And shall we, then, put off the inspection to an 
uncertain period, to a period, when we can neither repent 
to any purpose for what was wrong, nor begin to do what 
we shall then preceive would have been right ? Let these 
frequent meditations on death, lead us to reflect what the 
feelings of a dying bed will be. Let us think now what 
will then be the review of riches mis-spent, of talents ne- 
glected or perverted, of influence abused, of learning mis- 
applied, of time misemployed! To entertain serious 
thoughts of death now, is the most likely method for recti- 
fying tempers, for conquering propensities^ for establishing 



^iifldple^, fer coBfirming habits, of which we shall then fed 
the consequences ; for relinquishing enterprises and pursuits* 
tor the success of which we may then be as much afflicted, 
as we should now be at their defeat. 

He who cannot find time to consult his Bible, willjfind, 
©ne day, that he has time to be sick ; he who has no time 
to pray, must find time to die. He who can find no time 
to reflect, is most likely to find time to sin ; be who can- 
not find time for repentance, will find an eternity in which 
repentance will be of no avail. Let us, then, under the 
influence of the Divine spirit, seriously reflect, under what 
law we came into the world : " it is appointed for all 
3»en once to die, end, after death, the judgement.' 3 
Is it not obvious, then, that the design of life is to pre*' 
pare for judgement ; and that, in proportion &$ we €mplpy 
'lisle mil} wfc sSake tostortality happy * 



( 106 > 
CHAP. IX, 

ON CHARITY. 

In that general use of the Talents, suggested in the para- 
ble, there is also a particular vocation, on the exercise of 
which, every man must equitably determine. Each is 
particularly called upon to acquit himself of that more im- 
mediate duty, for the practice of which, God has given 
special endowments and opportunity. Our Maker requires 
the specific exercise of the specific talent. The nature of 
the gift points out the nature of the requisition. The use 
of the endowment is a peculiar debt, a marked obligation. 
This is not a gift confounded with the mass of his gifts, but 
one by which God designs to be, by that individual, more 
remarkably glorified. 

But charity is a virtue of all times and all places. It is 
not fo much an independent grace in itself, as an energy, 
which gives the last touch and highest finish to every other, 
and resolves them all into one common principle. It 
is called ;: the very bond of perfectness v " not only because 
ijt unites us to God, our ultimate perfection, but because 
it fies all the other virtues together, and refers them thus 
concatenated, to Him, their common source and centre. 

St. Peter having given a pressing exhortation to many 
exalted duties, finishes by ascribing to charity this emphat- 
ical superiority; M Above all things, have fervent charity/* 
It is, indeed, the prolific principle of all daty : a con- 
fluence of every thing that is lovely and amiable : the 
fountain from which all excellencies flow, the stream in 
which they all meet. It is not subject to the ebb and flow 
of passion or partiality — it is true Christian sympathy. 
It is tender without weakness; it does not arise from that 
constitutional softness which may be rather infirmity than 
virtue. It is the affection of the Gospel ; a love derived 



ON CHARITY. 107 

from the Spirit of Christ, and reciprocally communicated 
among his genuine followers. 

Charity comprehends an indefinitely wide sphere, both 
in feeling and doing. According to the arrangement of 
St. Paul, in his beautiful personification of this grace*, 
she may be said to embrace almost the whole scheme of 
religious, personal, and social duty. " Patient and kind," 
she does not wait to be solicited to acts of benignity, she 
seizes the occasion — she does more, she watches for it. 
She " endures'' evils, but inflicts none ; she does not select 
ker trkls, but " bears all things." Though " she believes 
all things," yet she exercises her hope without relinquish- 
ing her prudence ; sometimes, where conviction forbids het 
thinking favourably, even then it does not prevent w her 
doping all things." She subdues " vaunting," conquers 
the swellings of insolence, and the intractableness of pride. 
Nofconly "she envieth not," not only she disallows the 
injustice of desiring what is another's, but, by a noble dis- 
dain of selfishness, she even u seeketh not her own" Her 
disinterestedness stirs her up to the perpetual rooting out 
that principle wrought by nature into the constitution of 
the soul. So far from thinking it a nroof of spirit to re- 
sent injuries, she is not '* easily provoked" by them. She 
smooths the fierceness of the irascible, and corrects the 
acrimony of the evil- tempered. She not only does not 
perpetrate, but " she thinketh no evil." She has found a 
shorter way of becoming rich than avarice ever invented, 
for charity makes another's goods her own by a simple 
process ; without dispossessing the proprietor, she rejoices 
10 much in another's prosperity that it becomes hers, be- 
cause it is his. I 

Here we see that the Apostle places charity not only 

before all the virtues which he thus gracefully marshals, 

before qualities the most moral, gifts the most spiritual, 

attainments the most intellectual, but he actually degrades 

* First Epistle *o the Corinthians, chap, xiu> 



403 <0N CIIARIXT, 

these last in the comparison j he does not barely lowe? 
their value, he annihilates it. Without this principle of 
life, this soul of duty, this essence of goodness, they are no* 
enly little, they are nothing. Without charity, possession?, 
talents, exertions, are all fruitless. They are of no value 
in the sight of God : they are of no efficacy to our salva* 
tion. Charity alone sanctifies our offerings, recommends 
our prayers, and makes our very praises acceptable. 

And though nothing is formally efficacious but the blooi 
and merits of Christ, yet charity, as a divine grace, and 
one that will never cease, shews that our interest in fain*, 
and union with him, are real and genuine. 

But to descend to the particulars of charity, and apply 
the different branches of it to the common purposes 01 
life. — W henever we are promoting the good of mankind^ 
either by assisting public institutions, or relieving individ-* 
uals, we are obviously helping on the cause of charity ^ 
and, when we cannot effectively assist the work, we may 
exercise the principle ; we may pray for the happiness 
which we cannot confer, and rejoice in every addition to 
the general good towards which we cannot contribute^ 
On the other hand, the purse may sometimes be open wher^ 
the heart is shut. And it is perhaps a more rare and $ 
higher virtue to exercise forbearance towards the faults 
and to put a candid construction on the actions, cf others^ 
than to supply their wants, or promote their temporal 
interests. But whether candour in judging, or liberality 
in giving, be the virtue in exercise, by the adoption of 
each as a law, and the practice of both on the ground of 
conformity to the Divine will, we shall acquire such a habit 
of exercising the kind affections, that what was adopted a? 
a principle will be established into a pleasure ; what was a 
force upon nature, will almost grow into a part of it ; obliga- 
tion will become choice, law impulse, duty necessity ; the 
energy will become so powerful, that the heart will invo- 
luntarily spring to the performance ; indolence, gettislfc 



QN CHARITY. 109 

ttQSS, trouble, inconvenience, xvill vanish under the vigor- 
ous operation of a habit whose motive is genuine Christi- 
anity. 

Otie Christian grace is never exercised at the expenceof 
another, nor is it perfect, unless it promotes that other. 
This charity enjoys abstinently that she may give liberally. 
While she restrains every wrong inclination, she stimu- 
lates us to such as are right. She is never a solitary 
quality, but is inseparably linked with truth and equity, 
She leads us perpetually to examine our means, disposi- 
tions, and opportunities, and to exert their combined 
force for the promotion of the greatest possible good. 
She teaches us to contribute to the comfort of others as 
well as to their necessities. She converts small kindnesses 
into great ones, by doing them with reference to God ; for 
it is not so much the worth, as the temper, which will ren- 
der them acceptable to Him. 

We must not .fudge of our charity by single acts and par- 
ticular instances, for they are not always good men who 
do good things, but by our general tendencies and propen- 
sities. We must strive after an uniformity in our charity 
— examine whether it be equable, steady, voluntary, and 
not a charity of times, and seasons, and humours. If we 
are as unkind and illiberal in one instance as we are pro- 
fuse in another, when the demand is equal, and we have 
both the choice and the means, whatever we may be, we 
are not charitable. 

Though charity, as we have already observed, is a quality 
of universal application, and by no means limited within the 
narrow bounds of alms-giving, yet, not to allow a due, that 
is, a high rank and station to those works of benevolence^ 
to which our Redeemer gives so conspicuous a place in his 
exhibition of the scrutiny at the general judgment, would 
be mistaking the genius of Christianity, would be departing 
from the practice and the principles of its Founder ; it 
would be forfeiting the high dignity he conferred on tttre 



110 ON CHARITY. 

grace, when he declared that he should consider the smal- 
lest work of love done to the least of his followers for his 
sake as done to himself. 

This pecuniary charity is not to be limited to our partic- 
ular connections — must not be confined to unfounded at- 
tachments, to party-favourites. It must be governed by 
the law of justice. We must not do a little good to one 
which may involve a greater injury to another : yet though 
we should keep our hearts always open, and our feelings 
alive to the general benefit, still, as our power must be in- 
evitably contracted, whatever right others may have to our 
beneficence, local circumstances, natural expectations, and 
pressing necessity, confer the more immediate claim. The 
most immediate is that of " the household of faith." 

From hence it appears, that in inquiring into the duties 
of charity, we must not overlook the use to be made of riches, 
one of the talents implied in the parable. The application of 
money, whether "kept by its owners to their hurt," o r 
squandered to their destruction, will equally be made the sub- 
ject of final investigation. Lord Bacons remark, that "rich- 
es, when kept in a heap, are corrupt like a dunghill, but,when 
spread abroad, diffuse beauty and fertility," has been more 
admired than acted upon. All the fine sentences that have 
been pelted at the head of covetousness have probably ne- 
ver reformed one miser ; nor have the most pointed apho- 
,risms,not divinely directed,ever taught the luxurious the true 
- use of money. Happily the age in wmich we live is so gen. 
erally disposed to acts of beneficence, that there never was 
a period which less imposed the necessity to press the duty, 
to enforce the practice, or to point out the objects. A thou- 
sand new channels are opened, yet the old ones are not 
dried up ; the streams flow in abundance, as if fed by a pe- 
rennial fountain. 

Let not any one, however, intrench himself in the sup- 
posed security of surrounding goodness. Let not any take 
ctmfortthat he lives in an age of charity, if he hintselfVs 



ON CHARITY, 111 

not charitable. We are not benevolent by' centact or in* 
fection, or by breathing an atmosphere of charity. Yet who 
has not heard persons exultingly boast of this noble charao ' 
teristic of the age, who are by no means remarkable for 
contributing their own contingent towards establishing its 
character? Probably many a man gloried in the valour of 
Ills country, and exulted in the pride of being an English- 
man, after the battles of Trafalgar and Salamanca, who, had 
he been sent into the action, would have been shot for Cow- 
ardice. 

Who has not seen the ready eye discharge its kindly 
showers at a tale of w x oe, and the frugal sentimentalist 
comfort himself that his tears had paid more cheaply the 
debt of benevolence, for which his purse had been solicited. 
The Author, many years ago, made one in a party of 
friends : an expected guest, who was rather late, at length 
came in ; she was in great agitation, having been detained 
on the road by a dreadful fire in the neighbourhood. The 
poor family, who were gone to bed, had been with difficul- 
ty awakened. The mother had escaped by throwing her- 
self from a two pair of stairs window into the street. She 
then recollected, that, in her extreme terror, she had left 
her child behind in bed. To the astonishment of all pre- 
sent, she instantly rushed back through the flames, and, to 
the general joy, soon appeared with the child alive in her 
arms. While she w r as expressing her gratitude, the light 
of the lamps fell on its face, and she perceived, to her inex- 
pressible horror, that she had saved the child of another 
%voman— her own had perished. It may be imagined what 
were the feelings of the company. A subscription was in- 
stantly begun. Almost every one had liberally contribu - 
ted, when a Nobleman, who could have bought the whole 
party, turning to the writer of these pages, said " Madam, 
I will give you — " every expecting eye was turned to the 
Peer, knowing him to he unused to the giving mood, the 
a addressed joyfully hdd out her hand, but drew it 



113 ON CHARITY. 

back on his coolly saying, " I will give you this affecting 
incident for the subject of your next tragedy." Some will 
*:ead this passage who were present on the occasion. 

But since neither the logic nor the rhetoric of the writer, 
were she so happy as to possess either, is likely to make the 
1,1 churl liberal," or to stir up the vain or the Voluptuous to 
a beneficence which shall bear any fair proportion to the 
costly maintenance of their luxury or their vanity, the 
slight observations which follow shall be addressed to the 
bountiful giver, a character, blessed be God, as common as 
it is amiable. To the act it is unnecessary to excite him ; 
to the motive he cannot too carefully look. This is the 
more requisite, as, in an age in which more excellent char- 
ity sermons are annually preached than ever were delivered 
since the establishment of Christianity— that which alone, 
of all the religions in the world, ever made charitable foun- 
dations a part of its institution —we now and then meet 
with one, which seems to invert the principle, and to put 
the point for the base. It is with diffidence we put the 
question, dreading tor be suspected of indulging a spirit of 
censure where we would wish to offer unqualified commen- 
dation ; but do we not now and then hear assigned to 
almsgiving, nay assigned to the individual contribution for 
which the weii-intentioned preacher is eloquently pleading, 
a merit so vast, that it would seem to supply the absence of 
all other merits ; a merit which would almost induce one to 
believe that a more than ordinary contribution to the plate 
would prove a golden key, to stand in his stead, who " has 
opened the kingdom of heaven to all believers ?" 

To explain my meaning by an example : — In the temple 
of Him who gave his son to die, to atone for the sins of the 
world, t once heard, and from no mean authority, Charity 
called the atoning virtue^ of the age. To have termed it 
the prevailing, the distinguishing, the most amiable charac- 
teristic of the age, had been right and true. But when I 
t'jund it thus gravely proposed as an expiation for sin, I 



ON CHARITY. 113 

was ready to imagine that I heard the exclamation of St. 
Paul to his Galatians — " I marvel that ye are so soon re- 
moved from him that called you unto, the grace of Christ 
unto another Gospel/' 

We most readily not only allow for, but admire, the ar- 
dour of an animated preacher, who, feeling his heart ex- 
pand with his subject, finds it as much his delight as his du- 
ty to impart to every bosom the tender and compassionate 
sympathies with which his own overflows ; and it is with 
reluctance we have presumed to intimate the restraints, 
which Christian piety should impose on itself in not over- 
stating even a Christian duty. 

We have no right to determine on the proportions and 
possibilities of any man's charity, but on the principle we 
may determine ; there must be an exhaustless spring in the 
heart, even where the Christian's means will not admit of 
a perpetual current. Love is in fact that motive principle, 
without which neither faith, nor mysteries, nor martyrdom, 
no nor even the addition of the second guinea to the plate, 
where only one had been intended, nor giving all our goods 
to the poor, will profit any thing. Where this vital spirit 
is wanting, the most ample bounty will not reach its end; 
where it exists, {' the cup of cold water" shall be accepted. 
Without this animating principle, though the bounty may 
obtain applause, may influence others, may do good, and 
promote good, yet it may unhappily fall short of promo- 
ting the spiritual interests of the giver. He who has pro- 
mised to render to every man according to his deeds, knows 
theprincipie of the deed, and has never promised to recom* 
pence any which has no reference to himself. 

To neglect works of charity, not to be largely liberal in 
the performance of them according to our ability, is an in- 
fallible evidence that our professions of piety mean noth- 
On the other hand, to depend upon them as what is 
to bear us out in our claims for heaven, before the tribunal 
of God ; is to offemi our Maker and deceive our o^n souls 
K 2 



ii* ON CHARIIV- 

We would be the very last to undervalue, or to discourage 
charity, but is it discouraging it to place it on its true 
ground ; to assert that we may build an hospital without 
charity, as we may endow a church without piety, if we 
consider the one as an expiation for sin, or the other as a 
substitution for holiness ? 

Some are ingenious in contriving, by a strange sel£delu- 
sion, to swell the amount of their charity, by tacking to it 
extraneous items of a totally distinct character. The Au- 
thor was formerly acquainted with a lady of rank, who 
though her benevolence was suspected to bear no propor- 
tion to the splendor of her establishment, was yet rather 
too apt to make her bounties a subject of conversation. 
After enumerating the various instances of her beneficence 
she often concluded by saying, " notwithstanding my large 
family I give all this in charity besides .paying the poor 
rates;" thus converting a compulsory act, to which all are 
equally subject, into a voluntary bounty. 

Our corruptions are so liable to infect even our " holy 
things," that we should be vigilant in this best exercise of 
the best affections of the heart— affections which God, 
when he graciously converted a duty into a delight, gave 
us, in order, by a pleasurable feeling, to stir us up to com- 
passion. We should be careful that the great enemy may 
not be plotting our injury, even when we are performing 
actions the most hostile to his interests. 

A&-there is not a more lovely virtue in the whole chris- 
tian code, so there is not one which more imperatively 
demands our attention to the spirit with which we exercise 
it, and the temper with which we bear the disappointment 
sometimes attending otfr best designed bounties. Though 
charity is too frequently thrown away on those who receive 
it, it is never lost on the benefactor, if " he who gives, 
cioes it with simplicity ." When the bountiful giver cannot 
find pleasure, he may always extract good. He may reap 
no small advantage himself from that liberality which has 



ON CHARITY 115 

failed to confer any. He may gain benefit from the disap- 
pointment he experiences in the unworthiness of the ob- 
ject. When the project he had anxiously formed for 
doing good to another is defeated by perverseness, or re- 
quited by ingratitude, it not only does not check the spring 
of bounty in the real Christian, but it calls new virtues 
into action. The exercise of patience, an improvement in 
forbearance and forgiveness, a stronger conviction that we 
must not make the worthiness of the object the sole meas- 
ure of our bounty, are well worth the money we have 
spent on the undeserving. Perhaps too the reiterated 
instances how little good the best man is able to do in this 
world, may serve to wean him from it, and be an addi- 
tional inducement for looking forward to a better. 

But it is much easier to relieve our neighbour's wants, 
than to bear with his errors ; the one gratifies our natural 
feelings, while the other offends them \ the most difficult 
as well as the most sublime branch of charity, therefore, 
is the forgiveness of injuries, is the love of our enemies. 
It is a love humbly aiming to resemble his, who sends his 
rain on the just and on the unjust ; a love not inspired by 
partiality, not extorted by merit. It is following the 
example, while we obey the precept of Christ, when we 
a do good to them that hate us." It is a charity which 
bursts with a generous disdain the narrow bounds of 
attachment and even of desert, levels every fence which 
selfish prudence would erect between itself and its enemies; 
it is a love, with respect to the objects, though with a 
boundless disproportion as to the measure, resembling 
God's love to us; it aims to be universal in kind, though 
it is low in the degree. 

A very able divine * has insisted that it is to this part of 
the character of the Almighty that our Saviour limits the 
injunction," Be ye perfect as your Father which is in 

* See Bishop £ herjo^'s serajca on tb$ text 4 « Be ye perfect," 



116 ON CHARM Y. 

heaven is perfect.'* It is, indeed, one of tlie principal 
instances in which finite creatures can by imitation ap- 
proximate to the character of God ; most of his attributes 
rather requiring as to adore, than leaving it possible for us 
to imitate them, For though all the attributes of God 
afford the most exalted idea of complete perfection, yet 
the injunction to attain his image is strikingly applied in 
the iS ew Testament to this particular part of the divine 
character. 1 he Apostle applies our being " followers of 
God. as dear children" afterwards to this individual in- 
stance, " forgiving one another, even as God for Christ'* 
sake has forgiven you," adding, "and walk in love as 
Christ also loved us." " So that, 5 ' says the Hishop," his 
exhortation to follow God stands inclosed on both sides 
with the precepts of love and charity, as if he intended to 
secure it from being applied to any thing else." St. Luke, 
who gives us an abridgement of the same sermon on th« 
mount from which the passage is taken, also suggests the 
practice of love and forgiveness from the example of the 
Almighty, " who is kind to the unthankful and the evil.' 4 
After having delivered the same beatitude, he corroborates 
ihe interpretation with an injunction, by saying, not b* 
perfect, but " be merciful as your Father also is merciful.*' 
Our Saviour impressed a solemn emphasis on the com* 
mand to forgive the offences of others, when he implicated 
it with God's /forgiveness of us. It is to be feared, that 
many who would think it an act of disobedience to omit 
the daily repetition of the divine prayer, of which this 
request forms so striking a clause, do not lay to neart the 
daily duty of supplicating for that frame of spirit which 
the petition involves. Can there be a more awful conside- 
ration, than that we put the grand request on which our 
eternal happiness depends, on this issue, when we insepa- 
rably associate our own hope of pardon, with the required 
and resonable condition of pardoning others ? Should we 
not be conscientiously cautious, how we put up this peti- 



ON CHARITY. 117 

tian, when we reflect, that we offer it to the great Searcher 
of hearts, who, while he listens to the request, can exactly 
determine on the integrity which accompanies it ? The 
divine Author of the prayer seems to hold out a sort of 
test of the spirit of our obedience, when he proposes this 
difficult duty, as a trial of our general conformity to his 
commands. It seems selected by infinite wisdom as a kind 
of pledge of our submission to his will in all other points : 
our interest is confederate with our duty in the practice of 
this high and peculiarly Christian grace. The requisition 
suggests at once the most absolute obligation, and the most 
powerful motive. 

This forgiveness seems not only to be one of the grand 
distinctions between the religion of the Heathen and the 
Christian world, but to form a considerable difference be- 
tween the duties inculcated in the Old and the New Testa- 
ment. In the former, indeed, there were not only indica- 
tions and suggestions of this rule, but some exemplifica- 
tions of its actual performance. It is remarkable, that 
when David, whose energy of character, or rather mysteri- 
ous inspiration as a prophet, led him to be so vehement in 
his denunciations of vengeance on persons of professed 
enmity against God, and against himself as the anointed 
of God, yet exhibited eminent instances of placability in 
his conduct towards his own personal enemies, especially 
in the case of Saul. But, perhaps, the duty, after all, was 
not so fully made out, so clearly defined, so positively 
enjoined, nor was the frame of mind so evidently seen in 
M them of old time." We have many instances under that 
dispensation, of saints and prophets laying down their 
lives for their religion, but it was reserved for the first 
New Testament Martyr, when expiring under a shower 
of stones from his enemies, to say, " Lord, lay not this sin 
to their charge," The reason is obvious. It being expec- 
ted, that our notions and practices should be adapted to 
the revelation under which we live, this sublime species of 



US ON CHARITY. 

charity should necessarily rise in proportion to the clear- 
ness and dignity of that dispensation. It is congruous, 
therefore, that our forgiveness of injuries should be exer- 
cised in far higher perfection under the Gospel, the profes- 
sed object of which was to make a full and perfect revela- 
tion of the pardon of sin by the blood ©fa Redeemer. And 
we can only be said to have a conformity to his image, in 
proportion as we practise this grace. Let us, however, 
remember, to borrow the thought of an eminent divine, 
*' that our forgiving others will not alone procure forgive- 
ness for ourselves, while our not forgiving others is a plain 
p^oof, that we ourselves are not forgiven/* 



( 119 ) 
CHAP. X. 

ON PREJUDICE. 

There is not a more curious subject of speculation, ihaa 
to observe the variety of colours with which opinion tin- 
ges truth ; the bias which prejudice lends to facts, when it 
cannot deny them ; the perversion it gives to the motive, 
when it cannot invalidate the circumstance; the warp and 
twist it gives to actions, which it dares not openly con- 
demn ?, the disingenuousness into which it slides, even 
though it does not intend to maintain a falsehood; the 
bright rays with which it gilds, perhaps unconsciously, its 
own side of a question ; the dark cloud by which it casts 
that of an adversary into shade. 

Prejudice, if not altogether invincible, is, perhaps, the 
most difficult of all errors to be eradicated from the human 
mind. By disguising itself under the respectable name of 
tirmness, it is of infinitely slower extirpation than actual 
vice. For vice, though persisted in through the perverse- 
ness of the will, never sets itself up for virtue ; a vicious 
nfan knows what is right, though his appetites deter him 
from following it ; but a prejudice, being perhaps more fre- 
quently a fault of the judgment than of the heart, is some- 
times persisted in upon principle. No man will defend a 
sin as such, but even good men defend a prejudice, though 
every one else sees that it is producing all the effects of a 
sin, promoting hatred, souring the temper, and exciting 
evil passions. 

Yet, though it may incidentally be attached to a good 
man, there are few errors more calculated to estrange the 
heart from vital religion, because there are none under 
which men rest so satisfied. Under the practice of any 
iinmorality they are uneasy, and that uneasiness may lead 
to a cure ; for the light of natural conscience is sufficiently 



120 ON PREJUDICE. 

strong to shew, that sin and peace cannot dwell together 
But prejudice effectually keeps a man from inquiring after 
truth, because he conceives that he is in full possession of 
it, and that he is following it up in the very error which 
keeps him so wide of it. Or if, with the Roman governor, 
he ask, " what is truth ;*' like him, he turns away for fear 
of an answer. The strongest light cannot penetrate eyes 
ihat are closed against it; while to the humble, who desire 
illumination, God gives not only the object, but the faculty 
of discerning it. 

As it is mental, rather than moral prejudice, which is the 
present subject of consideration, we shall say little of those 
prejudices of which the passions and appetites are the 
cause. Interest and sensuality see the objects which absorb 
them through their own dense medium, while the vision of 
either is probably clear enough in judging of the objects of 
the other's passion ; the blindness being partial, and confi- 
ned, like the lunacy of some disordered patients, to the sin- 
gle object to which the disease has a reference. Even pro- 
bity itself is not of sufficient force to guide our conduct ; 
we see men of sound integrity and of good judgment on 
subjects where prejudice does not intervene, acting, where 
it does", below the standard of ordinary men, governed by 
a name, carried away by a sound. It makes lovers of truth 
unjust, and converts wisdom into fatuity. It must, there- 
fore, be an enlightened probity, or we may be injuring our 
fellow creatures, when we persuade ourselves we are doing 
God service. Paul does not appear to have been a profli- 
gate, but to have been correct, zealous, and moral, and to 
have earned a high reputation among his own narrow and 
prejudiced sect. His error was in his judgment. The error 
of Peter was in his affections. A sudden touch of self-love 
in this vacillating, but warm-heated disciple, made him 
dread to share in his Master's disgrace. But in this case, 
a single penetrating glance melted his very soul, brought 
him back to contrition, repentance, and love. To cure the 
prejudices of Paul, a miracle was necessary. 



ON PREJUDICE. 12£ 

While the powerful arguments of our Lord put even the 
Sadducees, the infidels of the day, " to silence," they pro- 
duced no such effect on the professing Pharisees ; instead . 
of rejoicing to hear their great doctrine of the resurrection 
so fully vindicated, they redoubled their prejudices against 
him, at the very moment in which he had obtained such a 
triumph in their cause. The first thing they endeavoured, 
was to seek to entangle, by their casuistry, him who ha$ 
just defeated the common enemy. 

But, let us judge even the prejudiced without prejudice, 
Prejudice, to a certain degree, is not so much the fault of 
the individual, as of our common nature. And that sober 
tincture of it, which is inseparable from habits and attach- 
ments, is a fair and honest prepossession : — for instance 
whoever reprobated, as a censurable prejudice, that gene-, 
rous feeling, 

For which our Country is a name so dear ? 

But, after all, prejudice, of some kind or other, is a natural 
inborn error, attached to that blindness which is an incura- 
ble part of our constitution. 

Disagreement of opinion, therefore, if it be an evil in- 
separable from our present state of being, ought not to ex- 
cite antipathy ; complete unanimity of heart and sentiment 
being reserved as part of the happiness of that more per- 
fect state, where the effulgence of truth will dissipate ail 
the error and misapprehension which cloud our judgment 
here. 

People commonly intend to judge fairly ; and, when they 
fail, it is as often an error of the understanding as of the 
heart. They form their opinion of some particular subject 
from what they see of it. But though they see only a part 
they frequently form their opinion of that which remains 
unseen, more peremptorily than those who see the whole * 
for a large and clear view, by affording a justness of con- 
• option, wmmonly in duces humility. Perhaps, on tfiefr 



122 ON PREJUDICE. 

ignorance of those very parts of a question which they d# 
not see, they form their decision on the whole ; while the 
unseen points are precisely those which only could enable 
them to determine fairly on the general proposition. 

We should not, however, very severely censure any for 
the mere opinon they form, this being a matter of the 
judgment rather than of the will ; the true object of cen- 
sure is their conduct under this false impression ; in acting 
as hostilely as if their opinion was founded on the best as- 
certained fact=. If we are all more or less prejudiced, it- 
does not follow, that the conscientious act upon the feelings 
which the prejudice has excited. The harsh and the into- 
lerant, indeed, let loose upon their adversaries all the bad 
passions which this disposition to prejudge opinions haj 
stirred up ; while the mild spirit in which Christianity go- 
verns, will conduct itself with the same general kindness 
as if no diversity of opinion subsisted. Though all prepos* 
session arises from some cloudiness in the mind, it is a fair 
trial of the Christian temper, when the man who suffers 
by it, continues to exercise the same tolerant and indul- 
gent spirit towards the prejudiced party, as if there were 
a mutual concurrence of sentiment. If he have no other 
ground of objection to the person from whom he differs, 
there is something of a large and liberal spirit in acting 
with him, and speaking of him, on other occasions, as if 
the matter in debate did not exist. 

How endless and intricate are the misleadings of politi- 
cal prejudice ! It is as detailed and minute in its operation^ 
as it is broad and extensive in its compass. Will not the 
circumstance of voting on the same side often stand instead 
of the best qualities, in recommending one man to the good 
opinion of another? With this unfounded partiality is 
naturally onnected a dislike to better men, on the mere 
ground of their taking the opposite side ; for party, which 
takes such a large permission to think and act for itself, 
akes care never to allow to others the liberty which it so 
broadly and uniformly assumes. 



ON PREJUDICE. 123 

He who drinks deep into the spirit of party, minutely 
pencils all the shades of misrepresentation ; his prejudice 
blackening, his partiality whitening ; the one deforming 
what is fair, the other beautifying what is foul ; the one 
defacing temples, the otfaer garnishing sepulchres. Provi- 
dence, in the mean time, working its own way by these 
perverse instruments ; the worst designers being sometimes 
surprised into doing more good than they intended by a 
wish to anticipate the good projected by the opposite party, 
and so to throw an odium upon them, for not having been 
able to effect the same, though they had perhaps planned 
it, and though adverse circumstances alone had interrupted 
the scheme, or the want of a suitable occasion had delayed 
its accomplishment. Thus good is effected, the public is 
benefited, all are pleased. The comcientious rejoice that 
it is done at any rate ; the prejudiced, that their party 
have the credit of doing it. 

There are among the exhaustiess manoeuvres of a party- 
champion, if I may so speak, gestures and signs of disap- 
probation, which are of equal efficacy with language itself. 
There are also artifices in writing, that resemble intonation 
and accent in a skilful speaker, which, by a turn of the 
voice, or a clause in a parenthesis, throw in a shade of 
distinction, lend an emphasis which makes mystery intelli- 
gible, and helps out the apprehension of the reader. There 
is such a thing as an intellectual shrug of the shoulders, a 
mental shake of the head, an implication that has more 
meaning than an assertion, a hint which can effectually 
detract from the commendation which prudence has ex- 
torted, and which serves to awaken suspicion more than a 
direct charge. Whatever is omitted, is sure to be more 
than supplied ; whatever is dexterously left open by the 
writer, never fails to be over charged by the reader, wn® 
always values himself on his ingenuity in filling up an hia- 
tus. There is a way of setting out with general praise, in 
<?rder to make the meditated charge more effectual. A 



124? ON PREJUDICE. 

practised reader will see through the artful circumlocutory 
preface, which is gradually preparing to introduce the 
little, though effectually disparaging particle but These 
artifices raise up the ghost of some unknown evil in the 
character to be injured, and excitgf at the same time, the 
idea of prudence and moderation in the censurer. It is a 
mysterious giving out, an assumed regret at being compel- 
Jed to speak, a hypocritical conscientiousness, a reluctance 
of communication which, after it has told much more than 
all it knows- tenderly affects to have kept back the worst. 

One evil which commonly arises from the perusal of a 
work of systematic opposition, whether the object be pub- 
lic or private, is, that it has a tendency to bias the more 
liberal reader, who took it up in the most impartial state 
of mind, with as undue a prejudice in favour of the party 
attacked, as the assailant laboured to establish in favour 
of his own ; so that, if any injustice be excited, it is on the 
contrary side to that which the author intended. Gene- 
rally speaking, however, people do not sit down with a 
pure ■ ie* 5gn to read impartially any thing, which, from the 
title of the work, or the name of the author, they foresee 
or suspect is likely to contradict their creed, whether pre- 
viously adopted from conviction or prepossession. 

But, to confine our observations to the prejudices which 
embitter common life : — when we fancy we have been in- 
jured by some unfounded evil report, let us avoid consider- 
ing the character of the reporter, or our own supposed inju- 
ry, under the immediate impression of the intelligence, but 
try to divert our thoughts to some other subject, till our 
heated spirits have time to cool. We shall otherwise, too 
probably, feel and utter many things which exceed the 
bounds of strict justice. When the resentment has, in some 
measure, subsided, let us endeavour to collect and to retain 
only the simple and exact truth ; what the enemy really 
said, and not what we suspected he might say. Let us 
retrench all that is imaginary, all that is merely suspi- 



ON PREJUDICE. iJ5 

£ioii ; let us cut off all the aggravations of conjecture, all 
the inventions of passion, all the additions of revenge, all 
that belongs to unsubstantiated report ; — when these due 
retrenchments are made, we sh f ' often see that the injury 
is not so great. It is%io wonder if the object we saw 
through a mist was enlarged ; a clear medium reduces it 
to its natural size. 

But, supposing the worst to be true ; religion, operating 
on observation, will at length teach us to set these meta- 
physical evils, these afflictions of the imagination, this 
anguish of wounded pride or irritated self love, o*er against 
the real, deep substantial miseries of body and mind, under 
which thousands of our fellow- creatures, nay many of our 
friends, are at the moment sinking ; and we shall blush at 
our own irritability ; we shall bless God for the lightness 
of oar own lot ; we shall even be thankful for that evil 
which exists only in the opinion, or the report of a fallible 
creature, and which makes no part of our real self. 

But, above all, let us never revenge the injury by op- 
posing oar injustice to that by which we suffer, by acting 
against our opponents with the same spirit with which we 
accuse them of acting against us. Retaliation, which is 
the justice of a vulgar mind, is of the very essence of an 
unchristian spirit. Where this is indulged, all the virtues 
of the adversary are rooted out by our resentment, and it 
is well, if we do not plant vices in their room. Or if we 
do not invent faults for them, are we not too much dis- 
posed to take comfort in those they have ; to cherish un- 
kind reports of them, to give them a welcome hearing and 
a wide circulation ? Nay, self-estimation and rooted pre- 
judice may lead us entirely to mistake the character of him 
we call our enemy. A man is not necessarily wicked be- 
cause he does not admire us. He may dislike some of our 
notions without hating our persons ; or, after all, his pre- 
judices may not be entirely ill-founded ; and if we will ex» 
amine ourselves on the ground of his charge in some 
L 2 



1S$ Q$ PREJUDICE. 

particular instancy we may find, that we have hem 
tvrong in a way which we might not have discovered with- 
out him. If his detection of our error lead us to correct it, 
we should not reckon that man among our worst enemies : 
or, if we should happen to be right, there is a great advan- 
tage in being assisted by. the mode of attack, to knew how 
to collect materials for our defence. 

We must also learn sometimes to endure censure for 
things right in themselves, and, under existing circum% 
stances, necessary, which yet may not appear right to 
others, because it may not be prudent to disclose those se- 
cret springs of action, which, if revealed, would convince 
others that we have not acted wrong. Instead of spend- 
ing our spirits in invective, or spoiling our temper by ha- 
tred ; instead of liking our faults the better, or adhering 
to the'v» the more, because pointed out by those we dislike ; 
would it not be wiser to inquire, if our opinions may not 
be prejudices, as well as theirs ? For it does not inevitably 
follow, that even the dislike of bad men is any certain 
proof of our goodness ; though our natural propensity to 
think our own conduct and opinions right, disposes us to 
think them more right in proportion to the opposition 
which is made to either. We are blind to our own singu- 
larities, even though those singularities may be errors ; 
and a spirit of resentment or resistance makes that blind- 
ness often more obstinate. On the other hand, may we 
not be too much disposed to think our censurers, whom we 
call wicked, more wicked than they are ; or, though there 
may be errors in their conduct, this dees not take from them 
the capacity of judging of ours. Even though their hearts 
are wrong, their judgment, as far as relates to others, may 
jiot be totally perverted. It is no infallible proof of their 
bad judgment, that they think meanly of ours. 

But allowing that their judgment is as incorrect as their 
practice, and that their dislike proceeds from the " strong 
antipathy of bad to good," yet we may turn this dislike to 



ON V&EJVQILE. 127 

i , i hat hostility to religion, of which the Scripture 
so frequently speaks, is not intended to give the Christian 
a high notion of his own piety, but to encourage him against 
the fear and dejection which that hostility might create, 
If he meet with opposition, he must not fly for refuge to 
his own goodness, as contrasted with the faults of his op- 
ponents; nor must he be depressed, "as if some strange 
thing had happened to him ;" much less must he convert 
the opposition he meets with, into an evidence, that he is 
in all instances right. In the consolations which the Gos» 
pel holds out to the sufferer for righteousness' sake, it was 
intended to inspire him with courage, not vanity; with 
confidence in God, not in himself. He must not, therefore, 
so much value himself because he has enemies, as suspect 
that he may have enemies, because he has deserved them. 
Or perhaps, there is something wrong in us which we have 
not yet discovered, for which God permits us to have ene- 
mies. This suspicion may serve to render us circumspect, 
and quicken our endeavours to remove the ground of their 
censure. This, even if it do not reconcile them to us, will 
still make us gainers by their enmity; so that, in any case, 
the Apostle's* interrogation, "And who is he that shall 
harm you, if ye be followers of that which is good V? loses 
nothing of its force. 

Who can forbear to lament, when he sees such a litigious 
spirit pervade superior minds, such airy nothings conjured 
into difficulties, sufficient to clog the wheels of the noblest 
undertakings ; an effect resulting merely from the partiality 
with which even wise men sometimes cleave to their own 
prepossessions, added to a reluctance to examine what may 
possibly be wrong on their own side, or right on the other ? 

It would be comparatively a small evil, if prejudices were 
only fostered on occasions in which religion has no con- 
cern. If we could hope to see such a general proficiency 
in true piety, that, where the sentiments of men concurred 
pn all essential points, each side would sacrifice something 



128 ON PREJUDICE 

on points that were indifferent, it would be a sort of reali- 
zation of the communion of saints. Bat if it be called an 
act of Omnipotence to 6 < make men of one mind in a house* 
what would it be to make t..em of one mind in a town or a 
kingdom? If we could witness a cordial agreement he- 
iween those who profess to have the interests of the same 
religion at heart, such a concurrence in the wish to pro- 
mote its great pracr.eal objects, as would render them will- 
ing to concede their own theories or their own judgment, 
in things that do not affect any of the vitals of religion, 
with such noble materials worked up into action, what a 
glorious world might this become ! This combination of 
Christian feeling would extinguish all unkind debate, " all 
malice, and anger, and clamour, and evil speaking." This 
peace-offering would oblige no one to renounce his princi- 
ples ; yet, by the extinction of petty differences, by such a 
confederacy of honest hearts and candid spirits uniting for 
some great public object, this wilderness would almost be 
converted into the garden of < rod. N or would an inferior 
portion of the benefit be derived to the minds of those by 
whom, for a cause of s-enerai importance, the inconsider- 
able sacrifice was made : so far from it, it would be hard to 
say which made up the largest aggregate of good, the pri- 
vate exercise of individual virtue, or the promotion of the 
general end. But, alas ! do we not sometimes see Chris- 
tians more forward in attacking and exposing each other, 
than in buckling on their arms to make war on the com- 
mon enemy? Are they not more ready to wage that war 
against a pious brother, who does not view some one 
opinion exactly in the same light with themselves, though 
equally zealous in the promotion of general truth, than 
against those who have no religion at all ? What a church 
triumphant would our's be in one sense, though still mili- 
tant in another, if there was a union of real Christians joh> 
ing in one firm band to assail the strong holds of vice and 
immorality, instead of laying open each other's errors an£ 



ON PREJUDICE. 129 

uiisiakes, and thus exposing the great cause itself to the 
derision of the unbeliever. 

We cannot dispute ourselves into heaven, but we may 
lose our way thither, while we are litigating unimportant 
topics — things which a man may not be much the better if 
he hold, and which, if he hold them unrighteously, he 
might be better if he held them not. The enemies of religion 
cannot injure it so much as its own divisions about itself. 

He who is zealously running after a favourite opinion, is 
in danger, in order to establish his point, of losing his mod- 
eration^by the way, and over-stepping truth at the end : 
and, what is worse, of converting the sober defence of his 
own system into a hoetile attack of that of another ; for a 
hot disputant seldom wages defensive war. The point 
under discussion so heats his temper, as to make him lose 
sight of its relative importance. Every consideration 
gives way in support of that opinion which has now the 
predominance in his mind. And this opinion is not seldom 
contended for with an eagerness proportioned to its real 
want of solidity ; since great and important objects are 
seen by their own light, and require not the false fire 
of pride or passion to blazon their worth. Often does 
the hot controvertist assert that to be of the very essence 
of religion, which is but a mere adjunct; and often he 
seems to wonder how men can bestow so much time and 
thought on any other topic, while his grand concern is 
under consideration. 

It is because these rooted and unexamined prejudices 
involve human affairs in so much perplexity, that the recti- 
fication of our judgment is one of the most important 
objects of our concern. The opinion which others enter- 
. tain of us, though it may hurt our fortune or our fame, yet 
it cannot injure our more essential interests. Their judg- 
ment of us can neither wound our conscience nor shake 
our integrity. The false judgment we form of them may 
do both, especially if we act upon the opinion we have- 



ISO ON PREJUDICE, 

formed, if we speak injuriously of those of whom we think 
unkindly ; if, by following a blind prejudice or precipitate 
judgment, we decide upon their characters, without 
possessing those grounds for determining which we insist 
are indispensable in the opinion they form of us. Jealousy, 
resentment, envy, often darken Our perceptions, and ara 
secretly operating on our minds, while we persuade 
Others, and too probably ourselves : that we are promoting 
the interests of tn.ith and justice, in exposing the faults, or 
counteracting the schemes of another. 

Controversies will be for ever carried on, though con« 
verts are not made: for I do not Remember, that of the 
ancient sects of philosophers, any went over to their oppo- 
iiets. toong the professors of the old school divinity, it 
*!oes not appear that the disci; les ever changed their 
master — that the advocates of the angelical Doctor ev r er 
adopted the cause of the irrefragable*; and it is evident 
that the followers of J an senilis and Loyala died with the 
same mutual hostility in which they had lived. 

As truth, however, will be assaulted, it must be defen- 
ded. Controversial discussions, therefore', are not only 
harmless, but useful, provided truth be the inspiring motive, 
and charity the medium of conducting them. Truth is 
frequently beaten out by conflicting blows, when it might 
have contracted rust and impurity by lying quiet, unin- 
quired into and unassailed. We are in danger of growing 
negligent about a truth which is never attacked, or of sur- 
rounding it with our own fancies, and appending to it our 
own excrercencies ; while the assailant teaches even the 
friendly examiner to clear the principal of all foreign mix- 
tures, and, by giving it more purity, to give it wider circu- 
lation. 

But, as we before observed, a thorough partisan in reli- 
gion, as well as in politics, seldom takes up a book of con- 

* Scotus, Aquinas, and the other school divines, were distinguished 
by these and similar epithets. 



ON PREJUDICE. 1Z1 

iroversy with an unbiassed mind. He has a p re-determin- 
ation which seldom gives way to argument. He does not 
sge, that the supporter of his own cause may be maintain- 
ing it in a wrong temper ; that, while he is fighting for 
orthodoxy, he may be aiming his side blows at a personal 
antagonist, or giving the death's wound to charity. He 
does not perceive, that he may be injuring the interests 
of practical religion, while he is labouring to promote 
such as are doctrinal that he may be inflaming the temper, 
while he is informing the understanding. Yet a contro- 
versy is sometime? so managed, that, though truth may be 
vindicated, the minds of plain Christians may be little in- 
formed. Such readers do not understand the logician's 
terms, which, though they may have the effect of silenc- 
ing the opponent, do but little towards enlightening 
the mind or strengthening the faith Controversies, 
therefore, in religion or politics often do little good, in 
comparison of the labour they cost, and the evil tempers 
they excite. They are seldom read by those to whom, if 
temperately con ducted, they might be of the most service 
— the unprejudiced. The perusal is commonly confined t© 
two classes, friends and enemies. Now the friends and 
enemies of a writer form but a small proportion of the 
world of readers. Of these, the one flies to the book to 
get his prepossessions strengthened, the other, to get his 
antipathies confirmed. The partisan was pre determined 
that no arguments-should shake him, the adversary sat down 
with the same liberal resolution. Nay, the probability is, 
that he will declare his former opinion is more immovea- 
bJy settled by the very reasons the opposer has suggested, 
so that he feels he is furnished with fresh arms by the an- 
tagonist himself. 

But though neutrality is not a state of mind to be de^ 
sired, moderation is. Even these polemical Christians, if 
each would look calmly and kindly on the other, might 
discover in his opponent a striking likeness of his own 
feature if not an entire similarity of complexion; a like* 



|§2 ON PREJUDICE. 

fiess sufficient to prove that they are both of the same 
family, all children of one common Father, though they 
do not carry the exact resemblance in some minutenesses 
in which parity is not necessary to prove affinity. The 
general family-likeness should, however, operate as an in- 
ducement to treat each other with brotherly kindness, 
even if they were not assured, which they all profess to 
to be, that the common Father will be the common Judge*. 



( 133 ) 

CHAP. XL 

PARTICULAR PREJUDICES. 

It is no inconsiderable part of our duty in our necessary 
connections with that motley mass of characters of which 
mankind is composed, to conquer certain prejudices which 
are too apt to arise, especially in persons of fastidious 
temper and delicate taste, against those, who, though 
essentially valuable in their general character, have some- 
thing about them which is positively disagreeable ; or who 
do not fall in with some of our ideas, or whose manners 
are not congenial to our feeling. To waii before we love 
our fellow- creatures, till their character be perfect, is to 
wait till we meet in heaven ; and not to serve them till 
the feeling be reciprocal, is to act on the religion of the 
publican, and not of the Christian. We should love peo- 
ple for what we see in them of the image of their Maker ? 
though it be marred and disfigured. That piety which 
makes them amiable in His sight, should prevent their 
being disgusting in ours. If we consulted our principles 
more, and our taste less, it would cure us of this sharp in- 
quest into their infirmities. 

Yet, on the other hand, if religious but coarsely-man- 
nered persons, however safe they may be as to their own 
state, could be aware how much injury their want of 
delicacy and prudence is doing to the minds of the polished 
and discriminating— who, though they may admire Chris- 
tianity in the abstract, do not love it so cordially as to 
bear with the grossness of some of its professors ; nor un- 
derstand it so intimately, as to distinguish what is genuine 
from what is extrinsic — If they could conceive what mis- 
chief they do to religion, by the associations which they 
teach the refined to combine with it, so as to lead them in- 
separably to connect piety with vulgarity, they wou!<* 
m 



ISi PARTICULAR PREJUDICES. 

endeavour io correct their own taste, from the y$tfmu9 
fear of {shocking that of others. They should remember, 
that many a thing is the cause of evil which yet is no ex- 
cuse for it ; that many a truth is brought into discredit by 
ihe disagreeableness which may be appended to it, 
and which, though utterly foreign, is made to belong 
to it. 

In addition to the infirmities which, from the fault of 
nature, or the errors of education, are not perhaps &> 
easily avoided, there are others which are purely volun- 
tary. Certain religionists there are who torment them- 
selves with a chimera till they become the victims of the 
prejudice of their own creation. There is a querulous 
strain of pious vanity, in which, with a most unamiable 
egotism, they delight to indulge. It is a sort of tradition- 
ary lamentation of evils which, having once been the lot 
of Christianity in the most awful extreme, are assumed t# 
fee still, in no inconsiderable degree, attached to its follow- 
ers. Surrounded with all the conveniences of life, and 
faring comfortably, if not sumptuously, every day, they 
yet complain of persecution, as if Christianity still sub» 
jected its followers to the sufferings of those primitive dis- 
ciples, " of whom the world was not worthy.** But Iti 
them compare the dreadful catalogue of torments enumer* 
ated by the Apostle to the Hebrews — enumerated the 
more feelingly, as he had experienced in all their extre- 
mity the sufferings he describes ; — let them compare these 
with their own petty trials, of winch, the worst they have 
ever felt or feared, is that " of mockings :" u cruel, mock- 
ings," perhaps, as to the temper of the re viler, but innox- 
ious to the imaginary sufferer. The glorious profession of 
the saints of old brought on them bonds and imprisonments 
by order of the government. Ours is sanctioned by 
the ruling powers. " They were destitute, afflicted, tor- 
mented ;" our distresses are seldom caused by our piety. 
But frequently by our want of it. They were denies! 



PARTICULAR PREJUDICES, 1j*> 

tfca ex«rcisa of their religion, we are protected ia ours. 
They were obliged to meet clandestinely at undue 
hours in incommodious places. With us, provision is 
made for public worship, and attendance on it encouraged 
and commanded. 

Let none of us, then, proudly or peevishly complain, as 
if our abundant piety was either forbidden, discouraged, or 
under- rated. Private prejudice, and individual hatred, are 
indeed sufficiently alive, but the blows they aim fall hurt- 
less as the feebly-lifted lance of Priam. If, then, we allow 
ourselves to murmur at our own disadvantages, will it not 
look as if we inwardly lamented that we are so very good 
to so little purpose ; as if we repined at not being rewarded 
by universal applause for the superabundance of our piety I 
May we not, by our complaints, lead the world to suspect 
that our goodness was practised as a bait for that applause, 
and that, having missed it, we feel as if we had laboured m 
vain? 

But, from the prejudices which one class of Christians are 
too ready to indulge against another, we turn to those of 
a different character'; to the philosophical man of the 
world, who is prepossessed not so much against any particu- 
lar class of Christians, as against Christianity itself. These 
unhappy prejudices are often laid in by an education in 
which no one thing has been neglected except religion. 
The intellect has been enlarged by the grandeur, and 
polished by the splendor, of Pagan literature, which took 
early possession of the yet vacant mind, and still maintains 
its ascendancy with that power and energy which naturally 
belong to first and, therefore, deep impressions. The sub* 
sequent character continues to feel the effect of the exces- 
sive admiration early excited by some favourite authors, by 
whom the more impetuous passions and generous vices are 
exalted into virtues, while the spurious virtues are ele- 
vated into perfections little short of divine, and the whole 
adorned with whatever can captivate the fancy and enchant 



136 PARTICULAR PREJUDICE^ 

the taste ; with beautiful imagery, ingenious flciig§, anri 
noble poetry; Who, indeed, does not feel divided between 
admiration at their writings, and regret, that the writers 
were not providentially favoured with divine illumination? 
Their brightness, like that of ebony, is a fine polish on a 
dark substance. 

Here the indignant man of letters, if any such should 
condescend to cast an eye on these pa^es, will exclaim, 
Are scholars, then, necessarily irreligious? God forbid 
far from me be such a vulgar insinuation- far from me such 
a preposterous charge ; not only against a multitude of emi- 
nent lay-Christians, but against the whole of that large 
and venerable body, whose life and labours are dedicated 
to religion, all of whom are, or ought to be, learned. 

But it is nevertheless true, reason on it as we may, that, 
in the state of excitement above described, every youth of 
taste and spirit, who has not been early grounded in Chris- 
tian principles, must necessarily afterwards first open the 
volume of Inspiration, and find it destitute of all that false 
but dazzling lustre with which the page of ancient learning 
is decorated. 

And what must considerably add to the prejudice which 
may reasonably be expected to be thus excited, is, that they 
find the great object of one religion has been to pull down 
all the trophies of false glory which the other had so suc- 
cessfully reared. The dignity of human natu-e. of which 
they have read and felt so much, is laid prostrate in the 
dust. IN. 1 an is stripped of his usurped attributes, robbed of 
his independent grandeur. A new system, of what appear 
to him mean-spirited and sneaking virtues— charity, sim- 
plicity, devotion, forbearance, humility, self-denial, for- 
giveness of injuries — is set up in direct opposition to those 
more ostensible qualities which are so much more flatter- 
ing to the natural human heart. 

These obstacle* to religious progress are removed, when, 



PARTICULAR PKfc)JLDIC£$, tSit 

In early institution, the defective principles of the one 
school are not only pointed out and guarded against, but 
are even, as is frequently the case, converted into salutary 
lessons, by being placed in just contrast with the other, and 
are made at once to vindicate the scheme, and to exalt the 
principles of Christianity. 

But he into whose character these principles have not 
been infused, is too likely to set up on the stock of his own 
unaerived powers. The cardinal vice of an irreligious rea- 
goner will naturally be that pride which sets him on con- 
sidering the Gospel as a narrower of human understanding, 
a debaser of the soaring spirit of intellectual man, a fetter 
on the expatiating fancy, a clog on the aspiring mind, 
This opinion, which he rather adopts by hearsay or tradl* 
Hon than by studying the sacred volume, continues to keep 
him ignorant of its contents. He is satisfied with know r - 
ing Christianity only in the state in which it is presented 
to him in certain passages, torn from their proper position, 
disjoined with malignant ingenuity, and distorted by per- 
verted comment, from that connection W'hich would have 
solved every difficulty and annihilated the triumphant 
cavil. Or if, under this influence, he takes a superficial 
glance at Christianity, he sees a religion, which though it 
prohibits no legitimate greatness, yet a religion whose ob- 
ject is not to make man, according to the estimation of 
this world, great. His secret prejudices, too, may be aug- 
mented by the revolting doetrine, that he is not able to do 
any thing right of himself. He is to do the Work, and to 
give the glory to another. After having fallowed with 
rapture the conqueror of Carthage hanging up his victo- 
rious laurels in the Capitol, he will feel indignant to be 
taught, that the Christian conqueror, instead of glorying 
in his triumphant crown, "casts it before the throne." 

Ke had observed in Pagan lore, abstract truth prepared 
for the philosophers, pageants, feasts, and ceremonies for 
fJae people. This distinction of rank and intellect flattered 



138 PARTICULAR PREJC1T 

human pride. In Christianity he finds one rule, and tha: 
a plain rule ; one faith, and that a humbling faith ; one 
scheme of duties, irrespective of station or talents : while, 
in the other, the systems of the learned, and the super- 
stitions of the vulgar, were as distinct as any two religions, 
and as inefficacious as none. 

But, after all, it is not the idolatry exhibited in the 
Greek and Roman writers that perhaps can overthrow his 
faith, though their licentiousness may afreet his morals. 
The hardest blow to his principles will be given by the 
modern champions of unbelief by writers against whom 
the young are not on their guard, because, without Chris- 
tianity, they slide in under the general title of Christians, 
disseminating contraband wares under false colours. The 
wound inflicted by the baptized infidel is more profound 
than that of the polytheist, whose absurdities render his 
aim comparatively innoxious. The preposterous systems 
of a false religion are harmless, compared with objections 
raised, misrepresentations sent forth, and sarcasms insinu- 
ated against the true one. 

But if the enthusiastic votary of those systems go no 
farther than to establish philosophy as his standard, and 
taste as his guide , when he is brought to think — riot that 
philosophy and taste are to be abandoned, for Christianity 
requires no such sacrifice — but that they are to be admired 
subordinately, the misfortune is, that the second half of 
life is sometimes spent in imperfectly counteracting the 
principles imbibed in the first half. It is not easy to get 
rid of the prepossession in favour of a morality untinctured 
with religion ; of " that love of fame which the pure spirit 
doth raise," but which it is the office of the renewed spirit 
to lower — of the admiration exhausted on splendid, but 
vicious characters — of the idolatry cherished for unprin- 
cipled heroes— of the partiality felt for all the powerful 
rivals which genius has raised up to religion — of all the 
sins that poetry has canonized— all the sophistry that praise 



PARTICULAR PREJUDICES. 13$ 

kas sanctified — all the pernicious elegancies of the gay- 
all the hollow reasonings of the grave. 

In this state of neutrality between religion and unbe- 
lief, happy is it for the faltering novice if he be not fatally 
offended, that Christianity admits people who are not ele- 
gant-minded, who are not intellectual, to the same present 
advantages, to the same future hope, with the profound 
thinker, and logical reasoner. And, even after the most 
successful struggles in this new science, it will still be 
found, and the discovery is humilitating, that the religious 
attainments of the unlearned are often more rapid, because 
less obstructed, than those of " the wise and the disputer 
of this world." It requires at least a smattering of wit and 
knowledge to be sceptical, while the plain Christian, wh« 
Brings no ingenuity into his religion, is little liable to the 
doubts of the superficial caviller, who seeks to be " wis* 
above what is written." For if the endowments of the un- 
learned are smaller, they are all carried to one point. 
They have no other pursuit to divide or divert their atten- 
tion ; they have fewer illusions of the imagination to repel ; 
they bring no opposing system to the Christian scheme ; 
they bring no prejudices against a revelation which holds 
out a promise of reversionary happiness to those who are 
destitute of present enjoyments; and Christianity will 
generally be more easily believed by those whose more im- 
mediate interest it is to think it true. They have no inter- 
fering projects to perplex them ; no contradictory know- 
ledge to unlearn ; their uninfluenced minds are open to 
impressions, and good impressions are presented to them. 
They have less pride to subdue, and no prepossessions to 
extinguish. They have no compromise to make with 
Christianity, no images of deities, which the philosopher, 
like the Emperor Tiberius, wishes to set up in the same 
temple with Christ ; no adverse tenets which they wish to 
incorporate with his religion, no ambition to convert it 
into a better thing than he made it. We have seen how 



HO PARTICULAR PREJUDICES. 

much philosophy early impeded the reception of puce 
Christianity in some of the wisest and most virtuous Pagan 
converts. Origen and Tertullian did not receive the truth 
from heaven with the same simplicity as the fishermen of 
Galilee. 

To prove that this is no flight of enthusiastic fancy, let 
us recollect with what an extraordinary elevation and ex- 
pansion of soul the Author of our religion bore his divine 
testimony to this truth : " I thank Thee, O Father, Lord 
of heaven and earth, because Thou hast hid these things 
from the* wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto 
babes." He then, instead of accounting for it by natural 
means, resolves the mystery into the good pleasure of God 
— > M Even so Father, for so it seemed good in thy sight." 

Even the vulgarity which, as we have already observed, 
mixes with, and debases the religion of the man of inferior 
attainments ; the incorrect idiom in which lie expresses 
his feelings and sentiments ; the coarse images and mean 
associations which eclipse the divine light, do not extin- 
guish it : they rather, in some measure, prove its intrinsic 
brightness by Its shining through so dense a medium. When 
the man of refinement sees, as he cannot but see, what 
amelioration Christianity confers on the character of the 
uneducated j how it improves his habits, raises his lan- 
guage ; what a change it effects in his practice, what a de- 
gree of illumination it gives to his dark understanding, 
what consolation it conveys to his heart ; how it lightens 
the burdens of his condition, and cheers the sorrows of his 
life— he will, if he be candid, acknowledge, that there must 
needs be a powerful efficacy in that religion which can do 
more for the ignorant and illiterate, than philosophy has 
ever done for the great and the learned. And is it not an 
unanswerable evidence of the truth of Christianity and the 
power of grace, when we see men far surpassing all others 
in every kind of knowledge, themselves so far surpassed 
in religious knowledge by persons absolutely destitute of 
all other. 



PARTICULAR PREJUDICES. 141 

But if these weak and humble disciples afford a convin- 
cing evidence of the truth of Christianity ; if even these 
low recipients exhibit a striking exemplification of its ex- 
cellence, yet we must confess they cannot exhibit an equal- 
ly sublime idea of Christian perfection, they cannot adduce 
the same striking evidences in its vindication, they cannot 
adorn its doctrines with the same powerful arguments as 
highly educated Christians. Habituated to inquiry and re- 
flection, fhese are capable of forming more just views of the 
character and attributes of God, more enlarged conceptions 
ofhis moral government. They have also the advantage of 
drawing on their secular funds to augment their spiritual 
riches. They are conversant with authors contemporary 
with the inspired writers. Acquaintance with ancient 
manners and oriental usages also gives great advantage t® 
the lettered readers of Scripture, and, by enabling them 
to throw new light on passages which time had rendered 
obscure, adds fresh strength, and double confirmation, to a 
faith which was before Xi barred up with ribs of iron." * 

Scripture also affords a larger range of contemplation 
to those enlightened minds who study human nature at the 
«anie time, or who have previousl f studied it ; because it 
was upon his knowledge o'f the human character that the 
Saviour of the world so strikingly accommodated his reli- 
gion to the wants and the relief of that being for whose 
salvation it was intended. 

* The paltry cavil on the impossibility that the penitent woman 
could anoint the feet of Jesus os he sat at meat, couid only mislead 
such readers as were unacquainted with the recumbent posture ill 
"which the ancients took their meals. The triumphant sneer at the 
paralytic, who was let down from the housetop through the tiling with 
Iris couch, could only shake the faith of those who are ignorant of the 
manner in which the houses of eastern countries were roofed —Wheth- 
er infidel writers took advantage of the supposed ignorance of their 
readers, or whether their ridicule of these imputed absurdities of Scrip- 
ture arose from their own ignorance, we will not determine. Instan- 
ces might be multiplied without number of this igneraaee, or of this 



H2 FARTICTLAK PREJUDICES. 

The better educated, also, will better discern, because 
It demands a higher exercise of the rational powers, that 
passages of a similar sound have not seldom a dissimilar 
meaning; and that it is not the word, but the ideas, 
which constitute the resemblance. The want of this dis- 
cernment has led many well disposed, but ill informed per- 
persons, into mistakes. > 

Again : — Many detached texts are meant as a brief state- 
ment of a general truth, and intended to lead the reader 
into such trains of reflection as shall " exercise unto God- 
liness," instead of exhibiting a full delineation and giving 
the whole face and figure, every side and aspect of the sub- 
ject. Scripture frequently proposes some important topic 
In a popular manner, without making out its full deduc- 
tions, or its series of consequences. Now, for the fuller 
understanding these heads, and turning them to their due 
improvement, the advantage lies entirely on the side oi" 
(the thinking and the reasoning reader. It must be confes- 
sed, however, that the humble, though illiterate Christian, 
ss able to attain all the practical benefits of these sugges- 
tions. He compares Scripture with Scripture, he substi- 
tutes no opinions of his own for those he there meets with, 
he never attempts to improve upon Christianity, he neve? 
wishes to make the Bible a better thing than he finds it. 
By diligent application, and serious prayer, his understand- 
ing enlarges with his piety. Above all, he does the " will 
of God f and, therefore, " knows of the doctrine that it is 
of God." 

It must be confessed also, on the other hand, that the 
professed scholar, by* converting Scripture-learning into 
theses of discussion, is in some danger of making his know- 
ledge more critical than practical. The same reason which 
is meant to enlighten, may be employed to explain away 
his faith ; and his learning which ado'ms? is capable also of 
being turned to discredit it. 



PARTICULAR PREJUDICES. 143 

"We must, however, admit, that when our supposed man 
of high education becomes essentially pious, his piety will . 
be of a higher strain. It is more pure, more perfect, more ' 
exempt from erroneous mixtures, more clear of debasing 
associations, more entirely free from disgusting cant and 
offensive phraseology ; less likely to run into imprudence^ 
error* and excess; less in danger of the gloominess of super- 
stition on one hand, and the wildness of fanaticism on the 
other. Having the use of a better judgment in the choice, 
he is not in the same danger of being misled by ignorant 
instructors, he is not liable to be drawn away by a vanity 
so difficult to restrain in the uneducated religious man ; $ 
vanity so frequently excited when he sees his own superi- 
ority, in this great point, to his worse-informed neighbours 
From this vanity, and this want of the restraint of that 
modesty imposed by superior education, the man of low 
condition often appears more religious than he is, because, 
feeing disposed to be proud of his piety, he is forward to talk 
•fit. While the higher bred frequently appear less pious 
than they really are, from the good taste and delicacy 
which commonly accompany a cultivated mind. There is 
also another reason why they exhibit it less, they are 
aware that, in their own society, the exhibition would 
bring them no great credit. 

If unlettered Christians labour under some disadvantage^ 
we repeat it, they yet afford an internal evidence of the 
truth of Cristianity, and an evidence of no small value, 
They shew that it is the same principle which, when 
rightly received, pervades alike all hearts ; a principle 
which makes its direct way to understandings impervious 
to the shafts of wit, and insensible to the deductions of 
reasoning — to minds sunk in low pursuits, indurated by 
vulgar habits. It is a striking proof of its being die same 
principle, that such seemingly disqualified persons possess 
as clear views of its nature, at least of its broad and saving 
truths, as the man of genkss and the scholar ; destitute aa 



14A PARTICULAR PREJUDICES. 

they are of all his advantages, wanting perhaps his natural 
perspicacity, unused to his habits of inquiry, incapable of 
that spirit of disquisition which he brings from his other 
subjects to the investigation of this. No one, if he ex- 
amine impartially, can fail to be struck with this grand 
characteristic of the truth of Christianity— not only, that 
in all degrees of capacity and education in the same coun- 
try, but that in different countries, in those were taste and 
learning are carried to the highest perfection, and in dark 
and ignorant; nations, where not only the sun of science 
has never dawned, but where literature has never softened^ 
Bor philosophy enlarged the mind, where no glimpse of 
religion can be caught by a reflex light, as is the case in 
polished and Christian countries, — yet wherever Christian- 
ity has made its way, and pierced through, the native ob- 
scurity, there the genuine spirit, and the great essential 
fruits of the gospel, will be found just the same ; the same 
impression is made by the same principle; the same results 
spring from the same cause, and the disciples of Christ, 
whether it be the converted Greenlander or the Academical 
believer, are recognized in all their distinguishing features, 
are identified in. all the leading points. Such a concur- 
tence in sentiment feeling and practice, such a union in faith 9 
hope and charity, amongst persons dissimilar in all other 
respects, unlike in all other qualities, unequal in all other 
requisites ; minds never made to be akin by nature thus 
allied by grace, bearing the same stamp of resemblance m 
spirit as their possessors bear in the common properties of 
body : all this is a convincing proof that, there must be 
something divine in a principle which can assimilate suck 
(Eontrarieties — which can re-unite those in one common 
centre who differ in all other respects — which can anni- 
hilate all other distinctions to produce identity in the 
leading point. Does not all this prove it indeed to be the 
work of God, a work which requires not previous accom- 
plishment* ©r preparatory research^ but only a willing 



PARTICULAR PREJUDICES. 



I4r 



mind, an unprejudiced spirit, and an humble heart? Does 
it not prove, that where the essence, and the power, and 
the spirit of Christianity really reside, it will produce tte 
one grand effect, anffl hmri md « new \lft 



CHAP. XII. 

FARTHER CAUSES OF PREJUI 

It tf a singular fact that the infidel and the fanatic s 
times meet at the same point of error — that reason has lit- 
tle to do with religion. The enthusiast we are hopeless of 
convincing by argument, because he is commonly ignorant ; 
but the lettered sceptic may be better taught even by his 
pagan masters. Plutarch, after a large discussion whether 
brutes had an)* reason, determines in the negative from this 
consideration, because they had no knowledge or feeling of a 
Deity. The great Roman orator expresses the same idea 
when he asserts, that a capacity for religion was the distin- 
guisldng mark of rationality, and that this capacity is the 
most unequivocal sign ef reason. 

Yet sound reason and Christian piety are sometimes re- 
presented as if they were belligerant powers, and as if Or- 
ders in Council had been issued to cut off all commerce be- 
tween them; as if they were better calculated eternally to 
meet sw r ord in hand, than in the conciliatory way of treaty 
and negotiation ; as if every victory of the one, must ne- 
cessarily be obtained at the expence of the others defeat. 
But is it not an affront to the Giver of every good gift to 
represent his highest natural and hi? fiipernatural endow- 
ments as infallibly hostile to each other? It is evident 
tliat when reason and religion act in concert, they strength- 
en each other's hands. But when they injudiciously act in 
opposition, perverted reason starves the ardour of piety, 
or ill-judging piety hands over reason to obloquy and-scorn. 
In every cage, the ill -understood jealousy of each injures 
the interests of both. 

The truth is, sound and sober .Christianity, is fo far from 

discountenancing the use of reason, that shefthvites its eo- 

.X^vu. knowing that it po??2sses powerful arms to de- 



OFTRJTJUDICE. 147 

her cause; to defend her against the encroachments of 
error, the absurdities of fanaticism, the inroads of supersti- 
tion, the assaults of infidelity. But while she treats it not 
as a rival but an ally, Christianity, strong in Almighty 
strength, maintains her own imperial power uninfringed. 
. While she courts the friendship of her confederate, she al- 
lows not her own uncontrolled superiority to be usurped. 
She assigns to reason its specific office, and makes it know 
and keep its proper limits. The old law, indeed, being a 
formula of ceremonies, and a digest of ordinance^ for one 
particular people,, left not so full an exercise for the use of 
reason. Descending to the most minute particulars, and 
being expanded into the most detailed directions, it left 
little for the disciple but to read the rule and follow it. 
But the New Testament being, as we have elsewhere ob- 
served, rather a system of principles, than a mere didactic 
table of small as well as great duties, leaves much more to 
the exercise of reason, and furnishes a much larger field for 
the understanding to develop, to compare, to separate, to 
combine. The whole plan of duty is, indeed, most clearly 
and distinctly laid open ; but every uniting particle, every 
intermediate step, every concatenating link, Is not traced 
out with amplitude and fullness. 

The more instructed Christian will perceive that some 
expressions are merely figurative ; some are directions for 
persons under one circumstance, and some for those under 
another. The Gospel requires, indeed, as implicit submis- 
sion from the Christian, as the law required from the Jew ; 
but while it proposes truths, all of which equally demand 
his obedience, some of them require more especially the 
use of his reflection, and the exercise of his sagacity. We 
allude not to the great " mysteries of godliness," but to du- 
ties which are of individual application. 

If we were to pursue prejudice through all its infinite va- 
riety, we should never have done with the inexhaustible 
subject. Observation presents to us followers -of truth ef 



i^S FARTHER CAUSE* 

a very different cast, though their uniform object be the 
game. These persons, while they sometime* seek her Tern- 
pie by different paths, are yet oftener kept wide of each other 
by words than by things. Whatever, indeed, be the sepa? 
rating principle, prejudice is always carried to its greatest 
height by the impatience of the too fiery on the one hand, 
and the contempt of the too frigid on the other. But both, 
as we observe^, maintain their distance more by certain 
leading terms by which each is found to be discriminated, 
aed by an intolerance in each, to the terms adopted by the 
other, than by any radical distinction wi^ch might fairly 
keep them asunder. Now we do pot wish them to relin- 
quish the use of their peculiar terms because these terms 
either do, or should designate to their minds the most im- 
portant characters of religion. The Christian should nei- 
ther shrink from his own strong hold, nor treat with repul- 
sive disdain him who appears earnest in his approaches to- 
wards it, though he has not as yet, through some prejudice 
of education, sought it in a direct way. There are many 
terms, such as faith and grace, and others which might be 
mentioned, which subject the more advanced Christian to 
the imputation of enthusiasm and the charge of cant. 
These, however, are words which are the signs of things on 
which his eternal hopes depend, and he uses them, even 
though he may sometimes do it unseasonably, yet not as 
the Shibboleth of a profession*, but because there are no' 
others exactly equivalent to their respective meanings. 
In fact, if he did not use them when occasion calls, he would 
be deserting his colours, and be making a compromise, to 
the ruin of his conscience. 

But let him not in return fait too heavily on what are, 
to his ear, the obnoxious terms of his adversary Let him 
not be so forward to consider the terms virtue and re>:ti~ 
ivde as implying heresies that must be hewed down without 
mercy ; as substantives which must never find a place in 
the Christian's vocabulary. They are not only very inno^ 



OF PREJUDICE, 

oetit but very excellent words, if he who litters them only 
means to express by Virtue those good works which are the 
i'ruits of a right faith, and by Rectitude that unbending 
principle of equity and justice which designates the con- 
firmed Christian. The abuse of these terms may, indeed, 
make the more pious adversary a little afraid of using them, 
as the unnecessary multiplication of ordinary cases in which 
the more scriptural terms are pressed into the service, may 
make the less advanced Christian unreasonably shy of ob- 
truding them. 

But why must we viilify in others what we are cautious 
of using ourselves, in order to magnify what we chuse to 
adopt ? Vie should rather be glad that those who somewhat 
differ from us, come so near as they do ; that they are more 
religious than we expected ; that if they are in error, they 
are not in hostility ; or if seemingly averse, it is more to 
the too indiscriminate and light use of the opponent's 
terms, than to the sober reception of the truths they con- 
vey. Let us be glad t;ven at the worst, to see opposition 
mitigated, differences brought into a narrower -compa.^ 
Let us not encounter as leaders of hostile armies, but try 
what can be done by negotiation, though never of course by 
concession in essentials. If the terms Virtue and Recti- 
tude are used to the exclusion of faith and grace, or as sub- 
stitutes for them, it may afford an opening for the pious ad- 
vocate to shew the difference between the principle and its 
consequence, tlie root and its produce. He should charita- 
bly remember that it is one thing for an honest inquirer 
to come short of truth, and another for a petulant caviller 
to wander wide of it. It is one thing to err through mis- 
take or timidity, and another to offend through wifuiness 
and presumption. If the inquirer be of the former riass, 
only deficient, and not malignant; he may be brought to 
feel his deficiency, and is often in a very improvable state. 
It would therefore be well to let him see that you think 
- rht as far as he goes, but that lib does not go the 
* 2 



I5tt FARTHEJR CAUSfcS 

whole length. Tf he professes " to deny all ungodliness- 
and worldly : lusts," this is no small step: yet he may still 
require to be convinced that it is " by the grace of God 
teaching Mm " Here the two ideas expressed by your 
term of Grace, and his of Virtue, are brought into united 
action, with this difference, or if you please with this agree 
ment, that yours being the cause, and his the effect, the 
Christian character attains its consummation between you* 
You must, however, endeavour to convince him, that though 
the greater includes the less, the reverse cannot be true y 
ih?i faith and grace in the Christian sense involve virtue 
ani rectitude, but rectitude in the philosophical 

sense desire to be excused from any connection with faith 
and grace. But the offenefe taken at terms creates hostili- 
ty at the o'i: up the avenues to each other's heart, 
and leads men to be so filled with the things in which they 
diiier. them in the dark as to the things in which 
r'ee. 
The disputant will perhaps continue to insist 
as virtue and rectitude are to be found 
G ranted.— Neither do we find there 
gome other solemn words expressive of the most awful 
Verities of our religion. The holy Trinity and the satis- 
faction made by the death of Christ are not, I believe, in 
any part of the New Testament expressed by these terms, 
winch were first used some ages after in the Byzantine. 
gut can it be sakl that the things themselves are 
Tfid there ? They are not only conspicuous m 
o e y part of fiie Gospel, but make up the sum and sub* 
stance of what it teaches. 

While each disputant then contends for his own phrases, 
let not the one suspect that Grace and Faith are the watch- 
is of enthusiasm ; nor the other conclude that infidelity 
skulks behind virtue, and pagan pride behind rectitude. 
St. Paul expressly exhorts his converts to " add to their 
iUi£fc virtue/' and if the inverted injunction was never gi- 



OF PREJUDICE'. 151 

v.ja, it was not because faith was unnecessary where vir 
tue previously existed, but because virtue, Christian virtue, 
never could have existed at all without previous faith. In 
enjoining virtue, the Apostle, upon his own uniform princi- 
ple, supposes the Christian to be already in possession of 
faith; this lie ever considers the essential substance, virtue 
the inseparable appendage. Thus the divine preacher on 
the Mount, in his prohibition of an hypocritical outside, 
docs not say, Give alms, fast, pray ; he concluded that his 
followers were already in the practice of those duties, and 
an this conviction grounded his cautionary exhortation, 
when thou doest alms, when thou prayest, when thou fastest. 
He taught them to avoid all ostentation in duties, to which 
he alluded as already established, Be it observed— by the 
Saviour himself no attribute is so constantly enjoined or 
commanded as faith. His previous question to those who 
resorted to him to be cured was not if they had virtue, but 
faith ; but never let it be forgotten, that as soon as the 
cure was performed, the man of faith was enjoined^ as the 
surest evidence of his virtue, to air, no mor>: r 



1*2 



CHAP. XIII. 

HUMILITY THE ONLY TRUE GREATNESS. 

Humility is one of those qualities of which Christianity 
requires the perpetual practical exercise. It does not in- 
sist that we should be constantly feeding or instructing 
others — that we should be every moment engaged in acts 
of benevolence to our fellow-creatures, or of mortification 
to ourselves ; but, whether we. teach or are taught, wheth- 
er we communicate our good things to others, or are de- 
pendant on others for the communication to ourselves, 
humility is required as the invariable, the indispensable, 
the habitual grace, in the life of a Christian. Pride being 
the radical distemper of the natural man ; the business, the 
duty, the blessedness of the spiritual man, is to be freed 
from it. 

However valuable high intellectual attainments have 
been found in the vindication of religion, however benefi- 
cially talents and learning have been exerted in adducing 
the evidences and augmenting the illustrations of divine 
truth, yet for the most striking exemplification of genuine 
piety, " To this man will I look, saitL the Lord, who is of 
an humble spirit." Christianity gives a new form to the 
virtues, by re-casting them in this mould. Humility may 
be said to operate on the human character like the sculp- 
tor, who, in chiseling out the statue, accomplishes his 
object, not by laying on, but by paring off, not by making 
extraneous additions, but by retrenching superfluities ; tilt 
every part of the redundant material is cleared away. The 
reduction which true religion effects, of swelling passions, 
irregular thoughts, and encumbering desires, produces at 
length bn the human mind some assimilation to the divine 
image — that model by which it works — as the human re* 
semblance is gradually, and at length successfully, wre 
in the marble. 



ON HUMILITY. |$3 

Christianity, though equally favourable to the loftiest 
as to the lowest condition of life, was not intended to make 
man great, but to .make him contented to be little. Though 
:io enemy to the possession and cultivation of the highest 
mental powers, but affording, on the contrary, the noblest 
objects for their investigation, and the richest materials for 
their exercise ; yet she rests not her truth on their discus- 
sions, nor depends for making her way to the heart on 
their reasonings. While the cheering approbation of an 
humble faith is an encouragement repeatedly held out in 
the Gospel, there is not one commendation of talent, ex- 
cept for its application — not the least notice of rank or 
riches, except to intimate their danger — not any mention 
of the wisdom of this world, except to pronounce its con- 
demnation. 

humility stands at the head of the beatitudes, and is in - 
corporated with them all. And the gracious injunction, 
" Learn of me, for I am meek and lowly in heart," is a 
plain intimation^ that cur Redeemer particularly intended 
that portion of his own divine character for the most im- 
mediate object not of our-admiration only, but of our im- 
itation. It is the temper which of all others he most fre- 
quently commends, most uniformly enjoins, and which his 
own pure and holy life most invariably exhibits. If we 
look into the Old Testament, we see that God, after hav- 
ing described himself as " the high and holy One which 
inhabiteth eternity, 1 * by a transition the most unexpected, 
and a condescension the most inconceivable* immediately 
subjoins, that " He dwelleth with the contrite and the 
humble ;" and this from a motive inexpressibly gracious, 
" to revive the spirit of the humble, and to revive the 
heart of the contrite." 

Is it not incredible that, after these repeated declarations 
and examples of the Almighty Father and of the Eternal 
Son, pride should still be thought a mark of greatness, an 
ebullition of spirit; and that humility should be so little 



ON HUMILITY. 

understood to be the true moral dignity of Christians? 
While in the religion which they profess, there is no ex- 
cellence to which it is not preliminary, and of which it is 
not the crown ; nor are other virtues genuine hut as they 
are accompanied with this grace, and performed in this 
spirit* No quality has acquired its perfection, till it is cla- 
rified and refined by being steeped in humility. 

It is indeed essential to the very reception of Christianity, 
for, without this principle, we shall be disposed to cavil at 
divine revelation, to reject, at least, every truth revolting 
to human pride ; we shall require other ground for the be- 
lief in God than his revealed word, other evidence of his 
veracity than the internal conviction of our spiritual 
wants, and the suitableness of that remedy which the Gos- 
pel presents to us. This principle, therefore, is indispensa- 
ble ; without it, w T e shall be little inclined cordially to re- 
ceive Christianity as a light, or to obey it as a rule. With* 
out it we shall not discover the evil of our own hearts ; 
and, without this discovery, we shall by no means value 
the grace of the Holy spirit ; we shall exercise no habitual 
dependanee on the promised assistance, nor ask for a 
support of which we do not feel the want. 

But humility, by leading us to form a just estimate of 
ourselves, teaches us to discern the narrowness of our ca- 
pacities. It reminds us, that there are many things even 
in the works of God's natural creation *far above our com- 
prehension ; that from the ignorance and blindness of our 
minds we make frequent mistakes, and form a very errone- 
ous judgment about things -comparatively obvious and in- 
telligible. This temper will bring us to credit with fullei 
cordiality the testimony which God in his word gives 6\ 
himself and cure us of the vanity of rejecting it, on the 
mere ground that we cannot comprehend it. It will deli 
ver us from the desire of being," wise above what is wrix 
i en,* and is the sole antidote to the perils of that promise 
of unhallowed knowledge, with which the grand seduce 
tempted his first credulous victims. 



ON HUMILITY. 155 

It is not till humility has practically made known to us 
how slowly religion" produces its effect on ourselves, that 
we cease to marvel at its feeble influence and slow*pace<J 
efficacy on those around us As a consequence, this prin- 
ciple leads the humble Christian to be severe in judging 
himself, and disposes him to be candid in judging others. 
When he compares himself with worse men, it furnishes a 
motive, not for vanity, but gratitude ; when with bettei: 
for additional self-abasement. 

St. Paul seems to have been fully aware of the lagging 
movement which even Christians make towards the com- 
plete attainment of this heavenly temper. In his address 
to the Colossians, after having expressed his firm hope oi* 
their sincere conversion, in that they had " put on the new 
man, which is renewed in knowledge after the image of 
Him that created him," he yet finds it expedient to exhort 
them; and, for this very reason, "to put on," together, 
with other Christian qualities which he enumerates, " hmr> 
bleness of mind." 

He might have pressed this duty under the supposition 
of two cases, and, in either, the injunction would be just. 
As they had made a public profession of Christianity, he 
intimates, that there was no surer way of evincing that 
their profession was sincere, and their conversion radical, 
than by this unequivocal mark, the cultivation of an bum- 
ble spirit. Or, on the other hand, however deeply rooted 
they might be in faith and piety, he might feel it necessary 
to remind them, that they should not consider themselves 
as having attained a perfection which left no room for im- 
provement. So far was this deep proficient in divine wis- 
dom from thinking that all was done when the convert had 
entered on his new course, he enjoins them, even after this 
effectual change, that they should, as a consequence as 
:■ well as a proof, therefore, lC put on" this Christian grace ; 
and produces their conversion as a motive, " because you 
are already renewed." He does not recommend any spe 



ISb ON HUMILITT. 

* 

cific act, so much as a general disposition of ¥ mind/' im* 
plying, according to his uniform practice, that growth was 
necessary to life, and progress to perfection. 

The doctrines of Christianity, and the discourses of its 
divine Author, are rather pointed against certain radical 
evil principles, than extended to their lesser ramifications, 
When the powerful artillery of the Gospel was more espe- 
cially levelled against the strong holds of pride, it included 
in the attack all the minor offences resulting from it} im- 
plying, that if the citadel be conquered, the intimidated 
forces in the outworks will make but a feeble resistance. 

Even the worldly and the careless, who are perhaps too 
inattentive to perceive that humility is the predominating 
feature hi the truly religious character, as well as the most 
amiable and engaging part of it, yet pay it a sort of invo- 
luntary homage in adopting its outward appearance. Ma- 
ny among the mere elegant classes of society, who cannot 
be brought to adopt the principle, assume the form, as the 
most unequivocal mark of their superior condition. But 
while the well-bred exhibit the polished exterior of humi- 
lity in manner, they are called, as Christians, to cultivate 
the inward and spiritual grace. In spite of the laws against 
egotism which the code of good breeding has issued, a near- 
er intimacy sometimes discloses the self satisfaction which 
politeness had thinly veiled. While we are prone to carry 
our virtues in our. memory, we cannot be always on our 
guard against producing them in our conversation. Such 
virtues, for the most pari popular ones, caught our taste 
perhaps from the applause with which they were received* 
or the eloquence with which they were set forth In our 
presence : and as we acquired them in public, ai 
ing and reading, we shall be contented to exerc 
profession and talk. Many, and: very many of these quali 
iies'may be grafted on the old stock, and look green and 
flourishing, whilst they u have no root in themselves f but 
genuine humility springs out of a root deeply fixed in Ute 



ON HUMILITY. 157 

» % 

foil of a renewed heart, and takes its first ground on the 
full conviction of our apostacy from God. 

As we make a proficiency in this humbling knowledge 
of ourselves, our confidence in our own virtues proportion- 
ably diminishes. The delight we once received in the con- 
templation is first abated by self-distrust, and finally abo- 
lished by self- acquaintance. Then we begin to profit by 
the deep sense of our own weakness, and to send forth the 
genuine fruits of a strength and a virtue derived from 
higher sources. And thus, the sound conviction of our own 
frailty, though purchased at the expence of a great error, 
may prove, if we might venture to say it, of more real 
benefit to our own mind, than the performance of a splen- 
did action, if of that action all the use we had made had 
been to repose added confidence in our own strength, or to 
entertain higher notions of our own goodness. 

Yet, while we ought to be deeply humbled at every fresh 
detection of evil in our hearts, to be discouraged at ths dis- 
covery from proceeding in our Christian course is so far 
from being an effect of humility, that it is rather the result. 
of pride. The traveller who meets with a fall, does not re- 
cover his ground by lying still and lamenting, but by rising 
and pursuing his journey. Joined with tins faulty despon- 
dency, or still more frequently preceding it, is to be traced 
the operaiioa of a blind and morbid pride. Particularly, 
if the intimation of the fault we have committed comer; 
from others, the heart is found to rise at the bare suggestion 
that we are not perfect. We had perhaps been guilty of a 
hundred faults before, of which, as others took no notice, 
they made little impression on ourselves. We commit a 
smaller error, which draws the eyes of the world upon us, 
and we are not only dejected but almost hopeless. The 
eye of God was equally witness to our preceding faults, yet 
from their being secret, they produced little compunction, 
.vhile that which is obvious to human inspection produces 

Perhaps 



15 S ON HUMILITY. 

we were permitted to fall into this more notorious error 
that we might be brought to advert to those of which we 
had been so little sensible ; and though the depression conse- 
quent upon this fault is rather the consciousness of mortifi- 
ed pride, than of pious contrition, yet God may make use 
of it to awaken us to a feeling of our general corruptions, 
to warn us not to depend on ourselves, and to put us on 
our guard against " secret faults," as well as against open 
ajnd " presumptuous sins." 

Even a good man is not entirely exempt from the danger 
of occasional elation of spirit-; even a good man does not al- 
ways judge himself so rigorously as he ought; yet, though 
he majtes too many partial allowances, is too much disposed 
to softenings and abatements, to apologies and deductions, 
still he is, on the whole, suspicious of himself, distrustful of 
his own rectitude, on his guard against habitual abberra- 
tions from humility. Though tremblingly alive to kind^- 
iicss, his sincerity makes Mm almost ready to regret com- 
mendation, because his enlightened conscience tells him, 
that if the panegyrist knew him as he knows himself, it 
would have been bestowed with much abatement ; and he 
is little elated with the praise which is produced by igno- 
rance and mistake. Though he has fewer faults than some 
otliers, yet, as he must know more of himself than he can 
know of them, his humility will teach him to bear patiently- 
even the censure he doe? not deserve, conscious how much* 
he does deserve for faults which the censure? cannot know. 

There is, however, do humility in an excessive depreci- 
ation of ourselves. We are not commanded to take a false 
estimate t>f our own character, though a low would be too 
frequently a just one. While the great Apostle St Pete.' 
was contented to call himself the servant of Jcsvs Christ, 
his self-constituted successors, by an hyperbole of self-abase- 
ment, have denominated themselves servants of the servants 
vf God. And yet they have not, it is to be feared, always 
surpassed the disciple they profess to follow, in • 
of this apostolic grace 



QN HUMILITY. t59 

Nor is the appearance of this quality any infallible proof 
of its existence. Nothing is more common than to hear 
affability to the poor produced as an undoubted evidence 
of the humility of the affluent The act, indeed, is always 
amiable, whatever be the motive ; but still the expression 
is equivocal. Does it not sometimes too much resemble 
that septennial exhibition of humility which calls forth so 
much smiling condescension from the powerful, while it 
conveys " an hour's importance to the poor man's heart r' 9 
The one enjoys the brief, but keen delight, of reviling his 
superiors with impunity, with the better gratification of 
conferring favours instead of receiving them ; the other, 
like Dryden's Achitophel, " bowing popularly low," wins, 
by his courtesy, that favour, which he would not perhaps 
have obtained by his merit. But the curtain soon closes 
on the personated scene : — the next day, both fall back into 
their natural character and condition. The periodical 
•condescension at once reinstates itself into seven years* 
dignity, while the independent elector cheerfully resumes 
his place in his dependent class, till the next Saturnalia 
again invite to the reciprocal exchange of character. 

Where the difference of condition is obviously great, 
nothing is lost, and something may "be gained by. familiari- 
ty ; the condescension is so apparent, that though it pro- 
perly excites both admiration and gratitude in the indigent., 
it does not infallibly prove the lowliness of the superior. 
The impassable gulf which separates the two condition?, 
the immoveable fences which establish that distance, pre- 
serve the poor from encroachment, and the rich from de- 
rogation: no swellings of heart arise against the acknow- 
ledged dependant, no dread of emulation against the avowed 
interior. Even arrogance itself i3 gratified at seeing its 
train augmented by so amiable a thing as its own kindness. 
Notice is richly repaid by panegyric, and condescension 
imds it has only stooped to rise. If we give pleasure in 

ijritat to be paid with praise, we had ^better be tevS libera! 



160 ON HUMILITY. 

that we might be less exacting. The discreetly proud are 
aware, that arrogant manners bar up men's hearts against 
them; their very pride, therefore, preserves them from in- 
solence ; the determined object being to gain hearts., and . 
their good sense telling them that a haughty demeanour is 
not the way to gain them, they know how to make the 
exterior affable in proportion as the mind is high ; for the 
ingenuity of pride has taught it, that popularity is only to 
fee obtained by concealing the most offensive part of itself. 
Thus It can retain its nature and gratify its spirit, without 
the arrogant display by which vulgar pride disgusts, and, 
hy disgusting, loses its aim. 

The true ie?t is, how the same person feels, and how he 
conducts himself, towards him whose claims come in com- 
petition with his own — w<ho treads on his heels in his pre- 
tentions, or surpasses him in his success— who is held up as 
liis rival in genius, in reputation, in fortune, in display— 
who runs the race with him and outstrip? him. More 
severe will be the test, when the competitor is " his own 
familiar friend," who was his equal, perhaps his inferior, 
in the contest for academical honours, but is now a more 
fortunate candidate for the prizes which the world dis- 
tributes, or his deculed conqueror on the professional 
Arena. 

His humility is put to the trial, when he hears another 
extolled for the very quality on which he most values 
iiimself— commended for something in which he would, ii 
he dared, monopolize commendation — it is tried when he 
gees that a man of merit has prospered in an enterprize in 
which he has failed, or when he is called upon for the 
magnanimity to acknowledge one who, though below him 
In general character, is still his superior in this particular 
respect— it is, when, in some individual instance, this com- 
petitor has promoted the public good by a means which he 
Lad declared to be totally inapplicable to the end. 

The true Christian will be humble in proportion to tbt 



OS HV.UILITY. . 16 1 

splendor of his endowments. Humility Joes not require 
him to stupify or disavow his understanding, and that* 
disqualify or indispose him for great active duties. If hr 
possesses talents, he is not unconscious of them, hut, instead 
of exulting in the possession, he is abased that he has nor 
turned them to better account, he is habitually thinking 
how he can most essentially serve God with his own gii'c. 
Sensible that he owes every thing to his divine Benefactor, 
he feels that he has not made him the return to which he 
was bound, and that his gratitude bears little proportion 
to his mercies; so that the very review pf his abilities anS 
possession?, which inflates the lie arts of others, only deepens 
his humility, only fills his mind with a fuller sense of his 
own defect of love and thankfulness. Every distinction, 
instead of intoxicating him, only augments his sense of 
dependence, magnifies his weight of obligation, increase:-; 
his feeling of aceountableness. His humility has a double 
excitement : — he receives every blessing as the gift of God 
through the merits of his Son ; it is increased by the reflec- 
tion, that such is his unworth'mess, he dares not even sup- 
plicate the mercy of his Creator "but through the interces- 
sion of a Mediator : " where is boasting then? it is exclu- 
ded." — Not only on account of a»y good he may have, 
but also on account of evils from which he has been pre- 
served, he acknowledges himself indebted to divine assis- 
tance; so that his escapes and deliverances, as well as his 
virtues and successes, are subjects of gratitude rather than 
-of self-exultation. 

It will not be departing from the present object* if we 
contrast the quality under consideration with its opposite. 
While humility is never at variance with itself, pride is 
a very inconsistent principle. It knows not only how to 
assume the garb of the attribute to which it is opposed 
but even descends to be abject, which humility never is, 
Consider it on one side, nothing is so self supported ; siu- 
©a tf*e o1he: : you will perceive tjiart nothing is so 
■o 2 



HijaflUTi'. 

ependent, so full of claims, so exacting, so incapable oi" 
[insisting on itself. It is made up of extrinsic appenda- 
ges ; it leads a life of mendicity ; it sloops to beg the alms 
&f other men's good opinion for its daily bread. It is true, 
i happiness of a proud nan, if he have rank, arises from 
i idea of his own importance ; but Still, to feed and main- 
am this greedy self-importance, he must look around him. 
jh pleasures are derived, not so much from his personal 
enjoyments, as from his superiority to others ; not so much 
from what he possesses, as from the respect his possessions 
inspire. As he cannot entirely support his feelings of great- 
ness by what he finds in himself, he supplies the deficiency 
by looking backward to his ancestors, and downward upon 
his train. With all his self-consequence, he is reduced to 
borrow his dignity from the merits of the one, and the 
numbers of the other. By thus multiplying himself, he 
feels not only individually, but numerically, great. These 
foreign aids and a^oncts Re ty n * m to enlarge the space he 
fills in his own' imagination, ar<d he is meanfy contented 
to be admired for what is, in effect, no part of himself. 
Tills sentiment is, however, by no means limited to rank 
or riches. 

If the penury of pride drives it to seek its aliment in 
the praise of others, it is chiefly because we want their 
good opinion to confirm us in that which we have of our- 
selves. When we Secretly indulge in reckoning up the 
testimonies we have collected to our worth, it is because 
we like to bring as many witnesses as we can muster, that 
we jjT'Y have their approving verdict in additional proof 
thai our own judgment was right, In feet, we think bet- 
ter of ourselves in proportion as we contrive to make more 
people think well of us. But, however large the circle 
which " high imaginations 5> draw round the individual 
self m the centre, we can really occupy no more than our 
allotted space ; we may indeed change our position, but, 
in shifting it, we fill no more than we filled already* for 
1h the removal we Ipse as much as we gain. 



ON HUMILITY. 

It is an humbling truth, that the most powerful talent^ 
are not seldom accompanied with vehement passions, thai 
a brilliant imagination is too frequently associated with 
ungoverned appetites. Neither human teason, nor mo- 
tives merely moral, are commonly found to keep these im- 
petuous usurpers in order ; the strength of mens passion? 
tempting them to violate the rules Which the strength of 
their judgment has laid down. Nature cannot operate 
without its own sphere. What is natural in the intellect, 
will not, of itself, govern what is natural in the appetite. 
If the lower part of our nature is subdued, it is not with- 
out the holy spirit assisting the higher. Wit, especially, 
has such a tendency to lead astray the mind which it embel- 
lishes, that it is a striking evidence of the efficacy of grace, 
when men, whose shining talents make virtue lovely in 
the eyes of others, reject themselves u high thoughts en- 
gendering pride ;" when they, on whose lips the attention 
of others hangs with delight, can, themselves, by this di- 
vinely infused principle, " bring every thought into cap- 
tivity to the obedience of Christ." 

There is no quality so ready to suspect, and so prompt 
to accuse, as that which we are considering; there is no 
fault which a proud man so readily charges upon other? 
as pride; especially if the person accused possess those 
distinctions and accomplishments, the possession of which 
w r ould make the accuser proud. Men full of themselves, 
are disposed to fancy others deficient in attention to them 
and as it never occurs to them why those attentions are 
withheld, they have no other way of accounting for the 
neglect, but to charge the neglecter with being envious 
oi their qualities, or vain of his own. W'ith that deep 
humility, which is the ground-worrk of his profession, the 
Christian alone attains to real dignity of character. If we 
reckon those men great who rise high, and make a distin= 
guished figure in the world, how much higher is his claim 
dtness who looks down oq whai the 



164 ON HUMILITY, 

who views with indifference the tilings to which the world 
accounts it greatness to aspire, and the consummation of 
greatness to attain. 

The proud man* by not cordially falling in with the 
Christian scheme — which, if he thoroughly adopted, would 
shrink to nothing these bloated fancies — contracts, in ef- 
fect, the duration of his existence, and reduces to almost 
nothing the sphere in which his boasted dignity is to be 
exercised. The theatre on which he is satisfied to act, is 
limited to the narrow stage of this world ; and even on 
this vanishing scene, how far are the generality from being 
considerable actors ! Pride, therefore, is something worse 
than fatuity, for whether the stake be high or low, it is 
sure to play a losing game. It is difficult to say which 
lot will be most terrible ; his, who, having performed an 
obscure and painful part in this short drama, and having 
neglected to seek that kingdom promised to the poor in 
spirit, closes his life and hopes together ; or his, who, hav- 
ing had a conspicuous part assigned him here, submit?, 
when the curtain drops, not merely to be notliing ; but 
oh ! how much worse than nothing ! Absorbed in the il- 
lusions and decorations of this shifting spectacle, or intox- 
icated with the plaudits of the spectators, the interminable 
scenes which lie beyond the grave, though, perhaps, not 
absolutely disbelieved, have been totally neglected to he 
taken into his brief reckoning. 

Now, if pride were really a generous principle, if its 
tumour were indeed greatness, surely the soul which en- 
tertains it would exert its energies on a grander scale ! If 
ambition were indeed a noble sentiment, would it not be 
pointed to the noblest objects ; would it not be directed to 
the sublimest end ? Would not the mind which is filled 
with it, achieve a loftier flight ? Would it stoop to be 
•ooped up within the scanty precincts of a perishing 
world ? True ambition would raise its votary above the 
petty projects which every accident may orerturji. and t 



ON HUMILITY. 16c? 

every breath destroy ; which a few months may, and a few 
years ontst. terminate It would set him upon reflecting^ 
that all the elevation of intellect, all the depth of erudi- 
tion, all the superiority of rank, all the distinction of 
riches, is only held by the attenuated thread that attaches 
him to this world— a world which is itself " hung upon 
nothing." True ambition would instruct him, that he is 
not really great who is not great for eternity — that to 
know the heighth and depth , the length and breadth, of 
the knowledge of God, and of his eternal love in Christ 
Jesus, is the consummation of all knowledge, the top of all 
greatness, the substance of all riches, the sum of all wis- 
dom ; that the only object sufficiently capacious to satisfy 
the grasping desires, to fill the hungering soul of man, is 
that immortality which is brought to light by the -Gospel. 
That state which has God for its portion, and eternity for 
its duration, is alone commensurate to the grandeur of a 
soul redeemed by the blood of Christ. This holy ambition 
would shew him, that there is a littleness in whatever has 
boundaries— a penury in every thing of which we can 
count the value— an insignificance in all, of which we 
perceive the end. 

Let it then, ever be considered as a destitution of true 
greatness, practically to blot out eternity from its plan,, 
As a consequence, let that be truly designated " the wis- 
dom from above," which makes eternity the grand feature 
in the aspect of our existence. And this ambition, be it 
remembered, is the exclusive property of the humble 
Christian. His desires are illimitable — he disdains the 
scanty bounds of time — he leaps the narrow confines of 
space. He it is who monopolizes ambition. His aims 
•soar a bolder flight— his aspirations are sustained on a 
stronger pinion — his views extend to an immeasurable 
distance^- fee's hopes rest in an interminable duration 

Yet if his felicity does not, like that of secular ambi- 
tion, depend on popular breath, still it subsists on depen- 



iS6 ON HUMILITY. 

dence. It subsists upon a trust which never disappoints — 
upon a mercy which is never exhausted — upon a promise 
which never deceives — upon the strength of an arm which 
" scattereth the proud in the imagination of their hearts" 
—on a benignity which " exalteth the meek and humble " 
—on a liberality, which, in opposition to worldly gener- 
osity, " fills the hungry alone with good things," and 
which, contrary to human vanity, sends only " the rich 
empty away." 

Humility is an attribute of such antipathy to the origi- 
nal constitution of our nature, that no principle can poi 
bly produce it in its full extent, and bring it to its con; 
plete maturity, but that of the Gospel of Jesus Chrii 
No spirit short of this can enable us to submit our under- 
standing, to subdue our will, to resign our independence, to 
renounce ourselves. 

This principle not only teaches us to bow to the author* 
ity and yield to the providence of God, but inculcates the 
still harder lesson of submitting to be saved in the only 
way He has appointed — a way which lays pride in *the 
dust — If even, in the true servants of God, this submission 
is sometimes interrupted — if we too naturally recede from 
it — if we too reluctantly return to it, it is still owing to 
the remains of pride, the master sin ; a sin too slowly 
discarded even from the renewed nature. This partial 
conquest of the stubborn will, this imperfect resignation, 
this impeded obedience, even in the real Christian,- is an 
abiding proof that we want farther humbling, a mortifying 
evidence that Our hearts are not yet completely brought 
under the dominion of our principle?. 




( 167 ) 
CHAP. XIV. 

ON RETIREMENT. 

An old French wit says, that " ambition itself might teach 
us to love retirement, as there is nothing which so much 
hates to have companions." Cowley corrects this senti- 
ment with one equally lively and more sound, that " am- 
bition, indeed, detests to have company on either side, bat 
delights above all things in a train behind, and ushers be- 
fore." To seek therefore a retreat till we have got rid of 
this ambition, to fly to retirement as a scene of pleasure or 
improvement, till the love of the world is eradicated from 
the heart, or at least till this eradication is its predominant 
desire, will only conduct the discontented mind to a long 
train of fresh disappointments, in addition to that series of 
vexations of which it has so constantly complained in the 
world. 

The amiable writer already referred to, who has as much 
unaffected elegance and good sense in his prose works, as 
false taste and unnatural wit in his poetry, seems not to be 
quite accurate when he insists in favour of his beloved soli- 
tude, that a a minister of state has not so much business in 
public as a wise man has in private ; the one," says he, " has 
but part of the affairs of one nation, the other has all the 
works of God and nature under his consideration." But 
surely there is a manifest difference between our having 
great works under our consideration, and having them un- 
der our control. He assigns, indeed, high motives for the 
purposes of retreat, but he does not seem to assign the 
highest. Should he not have added in conjunction with 
the objects he enumerates, what should be the leading ob- 
ject of the retirement of the good man, the study of his own 
heart, as well as of inanimate nature 3 of the word, as well 
as of the works of God? 



itiii 0$ RETIREMENT. 

He who has spent his life in the study of mankind, till 
he is weary both of the study and of its object, will, with a 
justly framed mind, be well prepared for retirement. He 
will delight in it as an occasion for cultivating a more inti- 
mate acqaintance with his Maker and with himself. He 
will seek it not merely as the well-earned reward of a life 
•of labour, but as a scene, which, while it advances his pre- 
sent comfort, furnishes him with better means for preparing 
for a better life. We often hear of the necessity of being 
qualified for the world ; and this is the grand object in the 
education of our children, overlooking the difficult duty of 
qualifying them for retirement. But if part of the im- 
mense pains which are taken to fit them for the company 
of others, were employed in fitting them for their own 
company, in teaching them the duties of solitude as well !as 
of society, this earth would be a happier place than it is ; 
a training suitable to a world of such brief duration, would 
be a better preparatory study for a world which will have 
no end. 

Leisure with dignity is a classic phrase which carries to 
the taste and to the heart the mingled ideas of repose, ele- 
gance, and literature. It is, indeed, an honourable state 
of enjoyment. It has been sung by the poet, and extolled 
hy the philosopher. Its delights have been echoed by 
■hose who seek it, and by those that shun it ; by those who 
desire its possession, and by those who are satisfied with 
its praise ; by those who found their fondness on a . happy 
experience, and by those who had rather admire than en- 
joy it. 

Tumult, indeed, is to be avoided as a great 'Impediment 
that interior peace, without which outward stillness is of 
ittle value. But let us bear in mind that it is more easy 
to escape from the tumult of the world than of the passions. 
Before, therefore, we expect immunity from care in our 
projected retreat, let us inquire what is our object m retir- 
ing, We may deceive ourselves in this pursuit a? we fcave 



ON RETIREMENT. iC9 

tone in others. We may fancy we are retiring from mo- 
tives of religion, when we are only seeking a more agree- 
able mode of life. Or we may be flying from duty, when 
we fancy we are flying from temptation. We may flatter 
ourselves we are seeking the means of piety, when we are 
only running away from the perplexities of our situation ; 
from trials which make, perhaps, a part of our duty. To 
dislike these is natural ; to desire to escape from them is in- 
nocent, generally laudable. Only let us not persuade our- 
selves that we are influenced by " one motive when we are 
acting from another. The design may be even good, but 
let us not deceive ourselves with the idea of its being bet- 
ter than it is. Let us not boast that we are making a sac- 
rifice to duty, when we are consulting, however innocent- 
ly, our own ease or convenience. In retreating into the 
country for peace of mind, the temper you would find yott 
must carry thither. Those who retire on no other princi- 
ple but to escape trouble without turning their leisure to 
the benefits it is calculated to impart, are happy only on 
the low condition of being useless. If we retire upon the 
motive of " Soul, take thine ease," though neither covet- 
ousness nor sensuality be the prompting principle, if our 
object be a slothful indulgence, a retirement which does not 
involve benefit to others, as well as improvement to our- 
selves, we fail of the great purpose for which we came inks 
the world, for which we withdraw from it. 

But while we advert to the highest object as the best: 
we are far from insinuating, that the taste, especially m 
right a taste, may not be indulged from motives of an infe- 
rior nature; far from thinking that we are not justified m 
preferring a tranquil to a bustling scene, and adopting a 
more rational, even if it be not a more religious plan oflife 
There is something almost like virtue in the good taste 
which prefers it ; only, that as in intellectuals, good taste 
must have its substratum in good sense, so in more! 3 it 
should have its substratum in principle, But if *ro.v om 



170 ON RETIREMENT, 

thinks that merely by retiring from the world, he shall gei 
rid of his own evil t&npers, solitude is the worst choice he 
sould make. It may, indeed, through the grace of God > 
be made eventually beneficial : for though his interior 
burthen, so far from being lightened, will be more oppres- 
sively felt, yet its very oppressiveness, by leading him t# 
look into the cause, may lead to its removal ; he may be 
drawn to religion to get rid of himself, as he was driven te> 
retirement to get rid of his cares. 

No second causes act but by the direction of the first. 
The visible works of God, though so admirably calculated 
to stir up devotion in the heart, have not commonly, espe- 
cially when habit makes them familiar, been found to pre* 
duce this effect. Some of the school divines made a jus» 
distinction, when they compared inanimate and intelligen 
beings, in reference to the supreme Creator, by saying th 
the one only exhibit the footsteps of God while the othe-* 
Tfepresent his face. 

It was worthy of the munificence of omnipotent Bounty, 
not only to spread the earth with a rich profusiori of what- 
ever is necessary and pleasant to animal life, but with 
whatever might invite to contemplative and intellectual 
Hfe ; not only to sustain but. to gratify ; not only to nourish 
but to improve : by endless variety, awakening curiosity ? 
and by curiosity exciting research. The country is favour- 
able to the study of natural history ; furnishing both tfe* 
leisure and the materials. It sets the mind upon thinking, 
that if the objects of God's creation are so wonderful, Him- 
self how wondrovs then ! 

The mind, indeed, which is looking out for good, finds 
" sermons in stones, and good in every thing." To rninds 
of an opposite make, use destroys the effect, even if novel- 
ty had produced it. Little habituated to reflection, they 
soon learn to behold a grove of oaks with no higher feeling 
than a street of shops, and are as little soothed with tfee 
murmurs of a rivulet, as with the clatter ©f hackney cos 



0St RETIREMENT. 171 

w, sloth predominates in the cMracter, we are dis- 
posed to consider the retreat from wmck we had promised 
ourselves so much advantage, as furnishing a refuge for idle- 
ness rather than a place for reflection. If vanity and viva- 
city predominate, we shall value the loveliest scenery we 
have been embellishing, rather as means to attract compa- 
ny and commendation, than as a help to assist our better 
thoughts, and lift our hearts to holy aspirations. 

Though piety is no local thing, yet it has locality. That 
being is but a bad authority whom Milton makes Jn'oudly 
•to exclaim, " The mind is its own place," and the Stoics 
•carried their haughty mental independence too far, in as- 
serting that local circumstances made no difference in the 
condition of man. Retirement is assuredly favourable to 
the advancement of the best ends of our being. There the 
soul has freer means of examining into its own state, and 
its dependence upon God. It has more unobstructed lei- 
sure for enjoying with its Maker, 

Communion sweet, communion large and higti. 

It has ampler means for reiterating the consecration of its 
powers and faculties to him who gave them, than it could 
easily find in those broken snatches .and uncertain inter- 
vals which busier scenes ailbrded. But then we must be 
brought into a state and condition to reap benefit from re- 
treat. The paralytic might as reasonably expect to re- 
move his disease by changing his position, as the discon- 
tented to allay the unruly motions of a distempered mind 
merely by retiring into the country. 

A great statesman, whom many of us remember, after 
having long filled a high official situation with honour and 
ability, began at length impatiently to look forward to the 
happy period when he should be exonerated from the toils 
of office. He pathetically lamented the incessant inter- 
ruptions which distracted him, even in the intervals of pub- 
lic business. He repeatedly expressed to a friend of the 



I/. ON RETIREMENT. 

Author, how ardenfcf he longed to be discharged froaa the 
oppressive weight offiis situation, and to consecrate his re- 
maining days to repose and literature. At length one of 
those revolutions in party, which so many desire, and by 
which so few are satisfied, transferred him to the scene of 
bis wishes.* He flew to his rural seat, but he soon found 
that the sources to which he had so long looked, failed in 
their power of conferring the promised enjoyment ; his am- 
ple park yielded him no gratification but what it had yield- 
ed hinrm town, ^jthout the present drawback ; there he 
bad partaken of its venison without the incumbrance of its 
solitude. His Hamadryads, having no despatches to pre- 
sent, and no votes to offer, soon grew insipid. The still- 
ness of retreat became insupportable : and he frankly de- 
clared to the friend above alluded to, that such was to him 
the blank of life, that the only relief he ever felt was to 
hear a rap at the door. Though he had before gladly 
snatched the little leisure of a hurried life for reading, yet 
when life became all leisure, books had lost their power to 
interest. Study could not fill a mind long kept on the 
stretch by great concerns in which he himself had been a 
prime mover. The history of other times Could not ani- 
mate a spirit habitually quickened by a strong personal 
interest in actual events — There is a quality in our nature 
strongly indicative that we were formed for active and 
useful purposes. These, though of a calmer kind, may be 
still pursued in retirement under the influence of the only 
principle powerful enough to fill the heart which fancies it- 
self emptied of the world. Religion is that motive yet 
-quieting principle, which alone delivers a man from per- 
turbation in the world and inanity in retirement; without 
it, he will in the one case be hurried into impetuosity 3 or 
in the other be sunk into stagnation. But religion long 
neglected "will not come when you do call for it." Per- 
haps the noble person did not call. 

It is an obvious improvement in the taste and virtue of 






ON RETIREMENT. 173 

ti*e present day, that so many of oujfeictators retire, not 
f.o the turf y but to the plough ; that tney make an honoura- 
ble and pleasant exchange of the cares and vexations of po- 
litical life for the tranquil and useful pursuits of agriculture. 
Such pursuits yield comparative repose, and produce posi- 
tive good. Besides this, the modern Cincinnati*? will have 
the gratification of finding how much he has gained by the 
change in his choice of instruments, for he will see that 
" all sheep and oxen, yea and all beasts of the fiehL" are 
VdY less perverse, faithless, and intractabhfcthan the mdocile 
Human agents whom he has been so long labouring to break 
ia, and bring under the yoke. 

But whatever he may have gained in these respects, if 
Ihe philosophical and political agriculturist do siot make it 
.part of his arrangement, as we hope he does, that the culti- 
vation of pergonal piety shall divide his time and his 
thoughts with the cultivation of his paternal acres, he will 
not find his own passions more tractable, his own appetites 
more subdued, his own tempers better regulated, because 
-the theatre in which they are exercised is changed from 
contentious senates to blooming meadows. There is no 
power in the loveliest scenery to give that character to the 
oind on which its peace depends. It is true his innocent 
occupations will divert ambition-, but it requires a more 
powerful operation to cure it. Ambition is an intermit* 
tent' : it may, indeed, be cooled, but without piety it will 
be cooled as the patient in an ague is cooled " in the well 
day between the two fits," he will be looking back on the 
fever he has escaped, ancUforward to that which he is anti- 
cipating. There is but jone tonic powerful enough to pre- 
vent the return of the paroxysm. He will find the peru- 
sal of the Bible not less compatible than that of the Geor- 
gics with his interesting occupation. While he is actually 
enjoying the lovely living images under which the inspired 
writers represent the most delightful truths of religion, he 
alize the analogies intellectually, he may be, indeed^ 
p 2 



«)N RETIREMENT. 

conducted " to grdfc pastures" and led beside " the ti\[\ 
waters of comfort" in the highest sense of those beautiful 
metaphors. 

What a blessing is it to mankind, when they, whose large 
domains confer on them such extensive lccal -influence, 
give their views a wider range, and take in an ampler com- 
pass of beneficial patronage ; when they crown their ex- 
ertions for the public good by the pious education of their 
youngjjependants, by promoting the growth of Christian- 
ity as assiduously as the breed of sheep ; by extending the 
improvement of the soil to the moral cultivation of those 
whom Providence, having committed to their protection 
for that very purpose, will require at their hands. 

With the deepest gratitude to God, let it be observed 
how many of these great persons, with a spirit more hon- 
ourable to them than their coronets or any earthly distinc- 
tion, have stood forward as the avowed patrons of the no- 
ble Institution for dispersing the Bible into all countries, 
after having transfused it into every dialect of every Ian- . 
guage. When we consider the object, and view the rapidi- 
ty, and trace the success, are we not almost tempted to 
fancy that we see the Angel in the Revelation flying in 
the midst of heaven, carrying " the everlasting Gospel to 
preach unto them that dwell in the earth, and to every na- 
tion and kindred, and tongue, and people,"* 

* May an old and attached member of the Society for promoting 
Christian Knowledge be allowed to offer lier opinion (thougtrirreie- 
vant to the subject of this chapter), upon the complete establish merit 
of the argument in favour of the Bible Society, from its not injuring 
its venerable predecessor? It is now obvious, that the benefits of the 
new institution are effected without detriment to the old, from its ha- 
ving excited fresh friends to its cause, and raised additional funds far 
its support. Reasoning indeed from analogy, would the benefactor, 
whose means were competent to both, refuse his patronage to the 
Middlesex Hospital because he was already a subscriber to St. Geor- 
ge's? When he saw that other contributors neither withdrew nor &i~ 
nunished, but especially when lie saw that they augmented, dim* 
bounty to the elder establishment, would Ik not bid God speed to ttte 



f X RE1J W& 

It k c to warm thQ„coIuesi and to soft- 

€-n the hardest heart, to behold men Of the first rank and 
■talents, statesmen who have never met but to oppose each 
other, orators who have never spoken but to differ, each 
strenuous in what it is presumed he believes right, renoun- 
cing every interfering interest, sacrificing every jarring 
opinion, forgetting all in which they differed, and thinking 
only on that in which they agree; each reconciled to 
his brother and leaving his gift at the altar, offering up 
every resentment at the foot of the Cross ! There might 
l*e two opinions how men should be governed, there can 
be hat one— -whether they should be saved. 

We ought not to doubt that a portion of that generous 
seal with which they disseminate the word of life to others, 
will be exerted in increasing their own personal acquain- 
tance with it. To dispense the grand instrument of sal- 
vation to others, forgetful of our own interest in it, is one 
of the few instances in which disinterestedness WT>uld be 
criminal : while here, to participate in the blessing we be- 
stow, is one of the rare occasions in which self love is truly 
honourable. May we, without offence, without the remo- 
test idea of any thing personal, hazard the observation 
that it is possible to be made the instrument, not only of 
temporal, but eternal, good to others, without reaping our- 
selves any advantage from the good we communicate ? 

It might have supplied a thesis for disputation among the 
whimsical subtleties of the old school divines, which was 
the more blamable extreme, to possess the Bible ourselves 
without imparting the blessing to others, or to communi- 
cate it to them without using i t ourselves. Unfortunately 

yonnger? Would he not rejoice that a new source was opened for 
healing mere diseases, for relieving more wants ? In the 'distribution 
f?f tbe Bible, are not both institutions streams issuing from the same 
fountain of love, both flowing into the same ocean of good I If we 
may be allowed the* application, " they are diversities of gifts, but the 
"ame spat-it ;" 4t they are difference? of ^hr/inv.Etration, but it is the 
(d dtttlwfteth &U hi a!;>' ? 



176 OK RETXKOIL 

/ 

however, this cause for casuistry was cut short, by their 
refusing the Bible altogether to the laity. 

It is with reluctance we turn from subjects of grateful 
panegyric to these presented to us by the same class of so* 
ciety for animadversion. With regret we take leave of 
scenes enriched and dignified by the beneficial presence 
and exertions of their lords, for the dreary prospect of de- 
serted mansions and abdicated homes. To not a few of 
the rich and great, their magnificent houses are rather a 
cumbrous appendage of grandeur, places to which stran- 
gers resort to admire the splendor of the proprietors, and 
the portraits of their ancestors, than what Providence in- 
tended, a rich additional ingredient in their own overflow 
ing cup of blessings. Their seats are possessed without 
being enjoyed. They appear, indeed, to combine the ad- 
vantages of retreat with those of opulence. But 
only appearance. Do not too many of their owners strive 
to dispossess the scene of every attribute appended to it : 
Do they not chiefly derive what little they know of the 
charms of the country from the descriptions of the poet 
— of the diversities of landscape from tiie painters of the 
opera-scenes — of the delights of retirement from 'the mo- 
ralist, the philosopher, and, more frequently, the novelist r 
They contrive to transfer to their rural abodes every thing 
of the metropolis, except its buildings, and, to the metro- 
polis, every moveable appendage of rural beauty. Like 
the imperial Roman glutton, who never tasted fish but at 
the farthest possible -distance from the sea, they enjoy the 
lov r ely products of the conservatory, glowing with every 
hue, and breathing every fragrance, anywhere but where 
they grow. The most exquisite flowers yield little delight 
till transported to the town-residence. There they ex- 
hale their sweets amid smoky lamps, and waste them on a 
fetid atmosphere; exhausting their beauties in the tran- 
sient festivity of a single night, instead of referring them 
to decorate retreat, and add one attraction more to the 
charms of home and the nleasures of retirement. 



0$ R£Tlfe£IftE2^. 17;' 

With these personages, the principal change from town 
to country consists in the difference between a park and a 
square. They bring to one the same tastes, the same 
amusements, and the same inversion of hours which they 
adopted in the other. They lose the true enjoyment of 
both, by contriving that neither town nor country shall 
preserve any distinct character of its own. To some, 
indeed, the splendid inheritance is considered as little 
more than a commodious inn in which to repose in their 
tnt migration from the capital to the watering-place, 
-and from the chalybeate to the sea ; without having the 
too valid plea of attending the sick, or being sick them- 
selves. 

But if we compare the domestic scenes from which they 
are hurrying, with the places to which they are resorting, 
we are inclined to pity them on the seore of taste, as much 
as on the loss of enjoyment. A stranger to our maimers 
who had heard of the self-denial which our religion enjoins, 
when he compared what they had quitted with what they 
sre flying to, would naturally compliment them on the 
noble sacrifice which he would conclude they had made to 
«h:1y. He would admire the zeal which prompted the 
abandonment of such pure for such turbid pleasures ; he 
would admire the elevation of mind which could submit to 
such, unimposed penance. When he followed them from 
the splendid mansion to the close and incommodious resi- 
dence, in which a crowded season sometimes immures the 
possessors of palaces: when he saw them renounce their 
blooming gardens, their stately w r oods, " trees worthy of 
paradise," for unshaded .walks or artificial awnings; their 
bowers and temples for the unsheltered beach, open to all 
the rage of the dog star; the dry, smooth- shaven green, for 
sinking sands rivalling the soil of Arabia, or burning gravel, 
which might emulate Queen Emma's pToughshares, would 
he not exclaim in rapture, surely these heroic ladies submit 
l* gacb privations, encounter^ sach hardships make such 



178 GN RETIREMENT. 

renunciations, from motives of the most sublime self-denial! 
Doubtless they crowd to these joyless abodes, because they 
could find at home no distresses to be relieved, no innocence 
to be protected, no wrongs to be redressed, no ignorance 
to be instructed. Now, would he exultingly add, I have 
some practical experience of the sacrifices of which disin- 
terested piety is capable. The good they must be doing 
here is indeed a noble recompence for the pleasures they 
are giving up. 

Unimportant as this gradual revolution in our habits 
4 may he thought, there are few things which have more 
contributed to lower the tone both of society and solitude, 
than this multiplied and ever multiplying scenes of inter- 
mediate and subordinate dissipation. When the opulent 
divided the year between the town and countiy residence 
— the larger portion always assigned to the latter — being 
stationary in each, as they occupied a post of more obvious 
responsibility, they were more likely to fulfil their duties, 
than in these parentheses between both. For these places, 
to persons who only seek them as scenes of diversion and,\ 
not as recruits to health, are considered as furnishing a sort . 
of suspension from duty as well as an exoneration from 
care ; the chief value of the pleasures they afford consisting 
in their not being home-made. 

We have little natural relish for serious things. It is 
one great aim of religion to cure this natural malady. It 
is the great end of dissipated pleasures to inflame it. These 
pleasures forcibly address themselves to the senses, aiii 
thus, not only lower the taste, but nearly efface the very 
idea of spiritual tilings. They gradually persuade their 
votaries, that nothing but what they receive through their 
medium is real. Where the allusions of sense are allowed 
to make their full impression, the pleasures of religion 
appear merely visionary ; faint shadows at first, and after- 
wards unexisting things. 

If religion makes out certain pleasures to be dangerous. 



ON RETIREMENT. 179 

these pleasures revenge themselves in their turn by repre- 
senting religion to be dull. They are adopted under the 
specious notion of being a relief from more severe employ- 
ments ; whereas others less poignant would answer the end 
better, and exhaust the spirits less- If the effect of cer- 
tain diversions only serves to render our return to sober 
duties more reluctant, and the duties themselves insipid, if * 
not irksome — if we return to them as to that which, 
though we do not love, w# dare not omit, it is a question 
even in the article of enjoyment, whether we do. not lose 
more than we gain by any recreation which has the effect 
of rendering that disgusting which might otherwise have ' 
been delightful. 

But it is never too late for a change of system, provided 
that change is not only intended, but adopted. We would 
respectfully invite those who have been slaves to custom, 
courageously to break their chain. Let them earnestly 
solicit the aid which is from above on their own honest 
exertions. Let them tear themselves from the fascinating 
objects which have hitherto detained them from making 
acquaintance with their own hearts. It is but to submit 
heroically to a little dullness at first, which habit will con 
vert into pleasure, to encounter temptation with a resis- 
tance which will soon be rewarded with victory. They 
will be sensible of one surprising revolution j from the pe- 
riod when they begin to inure themselves to their own 
company, they will insensibly dislike it less, not so much 
for the goodness they will find in themselves, as from dis- 
covering what a fund of interesting employment, of which 
they had been so long in search, their own hearts car; 
furnish. 

As the scrutiny becomes deeper, the improvement will 
become greater, till they will grow not so much J.o endure 
retirement as to rejoice in it, not so much to subsist with- 
out dissipation as to soar above it. If they are not BC 
much diverted, thev will be legs dfeoomposed. If there 



180 ON RETIREMENT. 

are fewer vanities to amuse, there will be fewer disor- 
ders to repair ; there will be no longer that struggle be- 
tween indulgence and regret, between enjoyment and 
repentance, between idleness and conscience, which dis- 
tracts many amiable, but unfixed minds, who feel the rigbfc 
which they have not courage to pursue. There will be 
fewer of those inequalities which cost more pain infilling 
up than they afforded pleasure in creating. In their habits 
there will be regularity without monotony. There w2i 
be a uniform beauty in the even tissue of life ; the web, 
though not so much spangled, will be more of a piece: 
if it be less glittering in patches, the design will be more 
elegant : if the colours are less glaring, they will wear 
better \ their soberness will secure their permanence; if 
they are not gaudy when new ? they will be fresh to tht 



( 181 > 

CHAP. XV. 

©Angers and advantages of retirement. 

If some prefer retirement as an emancipation from trouble- 
some duties rather than as a scene of improvement, others 
chuse it as a deliverance from restraint, and as the surest 
mode of indulging their inclinations by a life of freedom ; 
not a freedom from the dangers of the world, but of follow- 
ing their own will. While we continue in the active 
world, while our idleness is animated with bustle, decorated 
with splendor, and diversified with variety, we cheer our 
erroneous course with the promise of some day escaping 
from it ; but when we sit down in our retreat, unprovided 
with the well chosen materials of which true enjoyment is 
alone compounded, or without proposing to dedicate our 
retirement to the obtaining them, we are almost in a more 
hopeless condition than when we lived without reflection 
in the world. We were then looking forward to the priva- 
cy we now enjoy, as to a scene of mental profit. We 
had in prospect a point which, if ever attained, would be 
to us the beginning of a new life, a post from which we 
should start in a nobler race. But the point is attained, 
and the end is neglected . We are set down in our ulti- 
mate position. 

But retirement, from which we promised ' ourselves so 
much, has produced no change, except from the idleness of 
tumult to that of ennui in one sex, and from levity to apa- 
thy in the other. The active life which we had promised 
to turn into contemplative life is no improvement, if a gay 
frivolity is only transformed into a dull vacuity. In the 
world we were not truly active if we did llitle good ; in 
retirement we are not contemplative, if contemplation is 
not exercised to the best purposes. It is in vain that we 
irs, if our he ,ufed " : :n 



182 ON RETIREMENT. 

such as are insignificant. There is less hope of a change 
in the mind, because there is no probability of a change in 
the circumstances with which this projected moral altera- 
tion used to be connected. Where the outset was frotb f 
and the end is feculence, there may be a difference, but 
there is no improvement. We shall find in retirement, 
under new modifications* the same passions, tempers, and 
weaknesses, which we had proposed to leave behind us. 
without the same pretence of wanting time to watch 
against them. If we settle down in petty systematic 
triSingy it is not the size of the concern, but the spirit in 
which it is pursued, that makes the difference. The scandal 
of a village, the intrigues of a little provincial town, may- 
be entereainto with as much warmth, and as little profit^ 
as the more imposing follies of the metropolis. 

Retirement, therefore, though so favourable to virtue^ 
is not without its dangers. Taste, and, of course, conver- 
sation, is liable to degenerate. Intellect is not kept in ex- 
ercise. We are too apt to g^ve to insignificant topics an 
undue importance; to become arbitrary; to impose our 
opinions as laws; to contract, with a narrowness of think- 
ing, an impatience of opposition. Yet while we grow 
peremptory in our decisions, we are, at the same time, lia- 
ble to individual influence; whereas iivthe w T orld, the in- 
jurious influence of one counsellor is soon counteracted by 
that of another ; and if, from the collision of opposite sen- 
tiraents we do not strike out truth, we experience, at least, 
the benefit of contradiction. If those with whom we asso- 
ciate are of an inferior education and cast of manners, we 
shall insensibly lower our standard, thinking ft sufficiently 
high, if it be above theirs, till we imperceptibly sink to their 
level. The author saw, very early in life, an illustration 
of these remarks, in a person who had figured in the ranks 
of literature. He was a scholar and a poet. Disappointed 
in his ambitious views of rising in the church, a profession 
for wMc> lie was little calculated, he took refuge in a coui^ 



ON RETIREMENT. 

try-parsonage. Here he affected to make his fa 
choice. On Sundays he shot over the heads of the 
or part of his audience, without touching the heart: 
better informed ; and, during the week, paid himself 
world's neglect by railing at it. He grew to dislike 
ed society, for which he had been well qualifie* 
spent his mornings in writing elegies on the cont< 
the world, or odes on the delights of retirement, 
evenings in the lowest sensuality with the most vul 
illiterate of his neighbours. 

Another danger is that of aspiring to become the 
our little system, since the love of popularity is no 
sively attached to public situations. In the world, 
if there be not a real, there must at least be a spuric 
to procure It, whereas, when there are no eompeiit 
easy to he popular ; to be admired by the uncultiva 
flattered by the dependent, may be the attainraen 
most moderately gifted. Let us not, therefore, ; 
ourselves by acclamations, which would equally foi 
worthless, if they rilled the same situation. If wc 
remember to distinguish between our merit and 01 
we shall receive the homage, not as a debt. of gratitude or 
a bait for bounty, but as a tribute to excellence. From 
being accustomed to flattery, we shall exact it as a right ; 
from not being opposed, we shall learn not to endure 
apposition. 

Besides the danger of contracting supercilious habits if 
surrounded with inferiors, there is also that of indulging a 
censorious spirit on comparing our own habits with those of 
persons who live in the world, and of over- rating our own 
exemption from practices to which, from indolence, we 
have no inducement, and, from circumstances, no oppor- 
tunity. When we compare our hearts and lives with those 
of whom we know little, let us not forget to compare also, 
-vith others, our situations and temptations. The compa- 
estimates we make in our own favour are freer- 



184- ON RETIREMENT. 

>us, always dangerous. Many who live in the world 
mortified spirit, while others may bring to a cloister 
)verflowing with the love of that world from which 
ier to turn our faces than to withdraw our affections, 
ided persons are sometimes less careful to turn to 
small parcels of time, which, when put together., 
no inconsiderable fund. Reckoning that they have 
finite stock upon hand, they neglect to devote each 
to its definite purpose. The largeness of their trea- 
kes them negligent of small, but incessant, expences 
tance ; instead of light reading being used as a ve- 
> severer studies, and better employments, it is too 
iy resorted to as the principal expedient for getting 
j tediousness of solitude ; people slide into the in- 
to such an excess, that it becomes no longer the 
n, but the business. The better studies, which 
T to be relieved, are superseded ; they become dull 
ome ; what was once pleasure is converted into a 
% and the duty is become a task. From this pleni- 
i eisure there is also a danger of falling into general 
s s. Business which may be done at any time, is. 
~ery reason, not done at all. The belief that we 
isnaii nave opportunities enough to repair an omission, 
causes omissions to be multiplied. 

From the dangers of retirement, we Come now to the 
more pleasant topic of its advantages. The retired man 
cannot even pretend that his character must of necessity be 
melted down in the general mass, or cast into the general 
mould. He, at least, may think for himself, may form his 
own plans, keep his own hours, and, with little intermission, 
pursue his own projects. He is less enslaved to the despo- 
tism of custom, less driven about by the absurd fluctuations 
of fashion. His engagements and their execution depend 
more immediately on himself ; his understanding is left un- 
fettered, and he has less pretence for screening himself un- 
der the necessity of tailing in with the popular habits 
when they militate against convenience and common sense* 



ON RETIREMENT. 18$ 

Many of the duties of retirement are morafixcd and cer- 
tain, more regular in their recurrence, and obvious as to 
their necessity. As they are less interrupted, the neglect 
of them is less excusable. In the world, events and en- 
gagements succeed ^each other with such rapidity and plea- 
sure, that the imagination has hardly time or incitement to 
exercise itself. Where all is interruption ■ or occupation, 
fancy has little leisure to operate. But if, in retirement, 
where this faculty finds full leisure both for exercise and for 
chastisement; if the undisciplined mind is left entirely t 
its mercy, the guilt will be enhanced, and the benefit lost; 
it will be ever foraging for prey, and, like other marauders, 
instead of stopping to select, will pick up all the plunder 
that falls in its way, and bring in a .multitude of vain 
thoughts to feed upon, as an indemnification for the reali- 
ties of which it \s deprived. The well regulated mind, in 
the stated seasons devoted to the closet, should therefore 
severely discipline this vagrant faculty. They who do not 
make a good use of these seasons of retirement, will not be 
likely to make a good use of the rest. The hour of prayer 
or meditation is a consecration of the hours employed in 
the business, whether of society or solitude. In those 
hours we may lay in a stock of grace, which, if faithfully 
improved, will shed its odour on every portion of the day. 

If general society contribute more to smooth the asperi- 
ties of manner, to polish roughnesses, and file off sharp- 
nesses, retirement furnishes better means for cultivating 
that piety which is the only genuine softener of the temper. 
Without this corrective, even the manners may grow au- 
stere, and the language harsh. But while the benevolent 
affections are kept in exercise, and the kindly offices of 
humanity in operation , there will be little danger that the 
mind will become rough and angular from the want of 
perpetual collision with polished bodies. The exercise of 
beneficence, too, in the country is accompanied with more 
. j~tion. 8» the good done is lesf eqjuivocal In great 

Q2 



i$6 ON RETIREMENT. 

cities, and especially in the metropolis, some charitaK 
sons chiefly content themselves with promoting public sub- 
scriptions, and puperintending pnblic charities, for want of 
knowing the actual degree of individual distress or the 
truth of private representation. Here all the advantage- 
lies on the side of the country resident. The characters, 
as well as" wants, of the poor are specifically known, and 
certainly ttic immediate vicinity of the opulent has the 
more natural, though not the sole claim, to their bounty. 

Retirement is 'calculated to cure the great infirmity, I 
had almost said the mortal disease, of hot being able to be 
alone; it is adapted to relieve the wretched A necessity of 
perpetually hanging On others for amusement ; if. delivers 
us from the habit of depending, not only for our solace, but 
almost for our existence on foreign aid, and extricates us 
from the bondage of submitting to any sort of society hi 
order to get rid of ourselves. It is very useful some 
thus to make experiments on our own minds, to strip our- 
selves of helps and supports, to cut off whatever is extrin- 
sic, and, as it where, to be reduced to ourselves. We 
ehould thus learn to do without persons and things, even 
while we have them, that we may not feel the privation 
too strongly when they afcnot to be had. These self-de= 
nials constitute the true legitimate self-love, as the multi- 
plying of indulgences is the surest w 7 ay to mortification. 

Those to whom change Is remedy, and novelty gratifica- 
tion, though the change be for the worse, and the novelty 
be a loss, are the first to bewail the disappointment which 
every one else foresaw\ We hear those complain most 
that they can get no quiet, whose want of it arises from 
the irruptions of their own passions. Peace is no local 
circumstance. It does not depend On the situation of the 
Iiouse, but of the heart. True quiet is only to be found in 
the extripation of evil tempers, in the victory over unruly 
appetites ; it is found, not merely in the absence of tempta- 
tion, but in the dominion of religion, It arises from the 



ON RETIREMENT, 1ST 

cultivation of that principle, which aione can effectually 
smooth down the swellings of pride, still the restlessness 
of envy, and calm the turbulence of impure desires. It 
depends on the submission of the will, on that peace of God 
which passeth all understanding, on the grace of Christ, 
on the consolations of the spirit. With these blessings, 
which are promised to all who seek them, we may find 
tranquillity in Cheapside ; without them, we may live a life 
of tumult on the Eddystone. 

Those who are more conversant with poetic than pious 
composition : who have fed their fancy with the soothing 
dreams of pastoral bards ; who figure to themselves a state of 
pure felicity among the guileless beings with whom a fond 
Pagination peoples the scenes of rural life, expect, when 
they retire into the country, to meet with a new race of 
mortals, pure as the fabled inhabitants of the golden age- 
spotless beings, who were not included in the primeval 
curse — creatures who have not only escaped the contami- 
nation of the world, but the original infection of sin, that 
sm, which they allow may be caught by contact, but which 
they do not know is a home-born, home-bred disease. It 
is indeed a most engaging vision, to associate indivisibly 
with the lovely scenes of nature, the lovelier form of puri- 
ty : but, alas! " such scenes were never!" The groves and 
lawns of the country no more make men necessarily virtu- 
ous, than the brick and mortar of the church make them 
necessarily pious. The enthusiast of nature, while he en- 
joys even to rapture her unpolluted charms, must not, how- 
ever, expect to find in retirement that unsullied innocence 
which the disappointed Cowley looked for in his retreat 
at Chertsey; which, after his woeful failure there, he 
continued to persuade himself he should still find in Ameri- 
ca; which his own Claudian vainly believed might be ob- 
tained by his interesting Old Man of Verona, on escaping 
from that city ; which even the patriarch Lot found not, 
in escaping from a worse city than Verona, 



1S8 ON RETIREMENT. 

Perhaps the vivid imagination of Cowley, in his eager 
longings for America, like that of some more recent en- 
thusiasts, might have been kindled by the alluring appella- 
tion of the New World. This seducing epithet might con- 
vey to his impressible mi nd the idea of something young 
and original, and luiconiaminate ; something that might 
excite the notion: not of anew found, but new created 
world, fresh and fair and faultless But even the disjunction 
of continents, which was then believed, produces no such 
distinction in the human character : the native evil pursues 
the man 

Far as th' equator thrice to the utmost pole. 

All experience, all hi ?tory, especially that history which 
is supremely the record of truth, rouses us from the bewitch- 
ing dream, and subverts the fair idea. It was in a garden, 
a garden, too, " chosen by the Sovereign Planter,'' that 
the first sin, the prolific seed of all subsequent offences, was 
committed. It was in a retirement more profound than 
any we can conceive, for it was in a world of which we 
know only of four inhabitants, and those of rural occupa- 
tions, that the first dreadful breach of relative duties was 
made ; that the first murder, and that of the dearest con- 
nection, was perpetrated. And though the treason of 
Gethsemane was, in the divine counsels, overruled to re- 
pair the defection of Eden, yet, to show how little local 
circumstances influence action, and govern principle, a gar- 
den was the scene were that treason was accomplished . 

God would not fSave provided so ill for the welfare of his 
creatures, who, from the constitution of theirtiature, could 
not have subsisted but in communities, if seclusion had 
been necessary to salvation. That it is the most favoura, 
ble scene for the production of virtue and {he promotion 
of piety we have fully admitted. In the world temptations 
meet us at every corner. In retirement, it is we who 
make the advances. He who had tried the extremes of pub 



ON RET1HEME2T. 18y 

and private life, who ha 

and who knew the dangers c 

exclusive instructions to i\ 

gives a general exhortatior 

hearts, and be still ?' an in 

the sceptre and the crook 

"I have poured out my h( 

the injunction or the exai 

retirement, for suchfpious 

both. Yet it must be confe: 

and rural images, with a foi 

be found in his allusion to c 
But whether We are in pi 

iion to the reason why we * 
is one grand cause of the m: 
world, as we before obsen , 
our senses ; in solitude, by 
tendency to mislead us. 1 
sent into this state to suffe 
revolt at the sufferings v 
taught us to expect. Tc 
from pain, instead of expei 
the common error of thos> 
end of their being. In tfo 
to one resource after anoth 
has hitherto eluded us, is n< 
not sought it in the right 
sot yet been tried ; that a 
ed. Thus we take fresh c 
if we have missed of happ 
is not the proper state of 
condition of his being, bi 
pursuit, and shall still fir 
about to adopt. 

A bad judgment contr 
much as bad dispositions. 



V90 ONRETIREMENT. 

life, that life is made anhappy. ■ It is from expecting from 
— +u„ n u ha* to bestow, that so little is en- 
ltented in retirement had 
acant hours in collecting 
but had generally caught 
je in that projected retire- 
lulgences were every day 

nspiring disgust at human 

happiness which is attaina- 

simple process : to contract 

?ays fewer than our wants ; 

than God meant we should 

led by sense or fancy, but 

)f God ; to think constant- 

istian will always be more 

emember that though deep 

ent to our frame and state, 

are those which man inflicts 

i himself; that we are only 

y T when we fasten our desires 

mable — objects neither com- 

, nor adapted to our future 




( 191 ) 



CHAP. XVI. 

AN INQUIRY WHY SOME GOOD SORT OF PEOPLE ARE 
NOT BETTER. 

There is a class of pleasing and amiable persons whom it 
would be difficult not to love, and unjust not to respect ; 
but of whom, though candour obliges us to entertain a fa- 
vourable hope, yet we are compelled to say, that their ge- 
neral conduct is rather blameless than excellent; their 
practice rather unoffending than exemplary; that their 
character rather exhibits a capacity for higher attainments, 
than any demonstration that such attainments are actually 
made. 

These are the people who, from their sobriety of deport- 
ment and orderly habits, we should be naturally led to ex- 
pect would make a great proficiency in religion. They 
are seldom hurried into irregularities ; discretion is their 
cardinal virtue ; they are frequently quoted as patterns of 
decorum ; the finger of reproach can seldom be pointed at 
their conduct ; that of ridicule, never, They are not sel- 
dom kind and humane, feeling and charitable ; they fill 
many relatives duties in a manner which might put to the 
blush not a few, from whose higher profession better thing? 
might have been expected. 

" You have sketched a perfect character," methinks I 
hear some angry reader exclaim. What more does society 
demand ? What more would the most correct man require 
in his son or his wife, his sister or his daughter? - 

We are indeed most ready to allow, that few, compara* 
lively, go so far ; we grant that the world would be a much 
less disorderly and vexatious scene than it is, if the grea- 
ter number reached these heights which we yet presume to 
consider as inadequate to the requisitions of the Gospel, 
as insufficient to answer the claims of Christianity. Would 



102 WHY SOME GOOD SORT OF 

it not be a very melancholy consideration, if this most en- 
couraging circumstance, of their being not far from the 
kingdom of God, should ever— which Heaven avert! — 
prove a possible reason for their not entering into it ; if 
their being almost Christians, should be the very preven- 
ting cause of their becoming altogether such ? 

Their education has been governed rather by proprie- 
ties than principles. They have learned to disapprove of 
hardly any thing in the way of pleasure for its own sake, 
but highly to reprobate the extremes to which disorderly 
people cany it. They censure a thing not so much for be- 
ing wrong in itself, as for being immoderate in the degree. 
They condemn all the improper practices against which the 
world sets its face, but have not very distinct ideas of the 
right and the wrong in any thing which it tolerates. Re- 
ligion, which has made a part of their early instruction, 
took its turn with the usual accomplishments, though sub- 
ordinate^ with respect to the earnestness with which it 
wasinculcated^ and with about the same proportion of the 
time allotted to it, as minutes bear to hours. It was taught 
as a needful thing, but not as the one thing needful. Keli. 
gion, however, continues to maintain its appropriate place 
in their reading, and, to a certain degree, to be adopted in- 
to their practice, bearing nearly the same proportion to 
other objects as it did when they were initiated into its ele- 
ments. They were bred in its forms, and in its forms they 
persist to live, if the term live can be properly applied to 
any thing which is destitute of the characters and proper- 
ties of life. They live, it is true, but it is as the vegetable 
world lives in the winter's frost, which does not indeed kill 
it, but benumbs its powers, and suspends its vitality. 

They make a conscience of reading the Scriptures, but 
sometimes interpret them too much in their own favour, in- 
stead of judging of the duties they inculcate by such pro- 
perties and results as they promise to produce. In making 
stu#y, they neglect to make it their standard. 



PEOPLE ARE N(5T BETTER. 1.33 

They deceive themselves on many points, by taking their 
measures from rules that are not legitimate. One makes 
his own taste and inclination his measure of practice, ano- 
ther the example of an accredited friend; almost all plead 
the dread of singularity, the vanity of opposing your judg- 
ment to that of the world, and the absurdity of setting up a 
standard which you know to be unattainable. If you cen- 
sure the thoughtlessness of the dissipated, they censure it 
too ; lamenting that there should ever be an abuse of things 
so innocent and lawful. If you represent the beauty of 
piety, they approve of. every kind of excellence in the ab- 
stract, but when you appeal to particular instances, refer 
them to actual exemplifications, they intimate, that, in re- 
spect to whatever exceeds their own measure, it carries in 
it somewhat of assumption and pretence; 01 else they in- 
sinuate, that however proper the thing may be in the per- 
sons alluded to, their situation admits of an exemption ; 
that what may be justifiable in others differently situated,, 
would be objectionable under their circumstances. Thus 
we involve ourselves in the flimsy web of a delusive sophis- 
try till the error becomes destructive before it is discerned. 

Excess of every kind is what they carefully avoid; and. 
excess in religion as much as n any other thing. Under 
this head they expunge zeal from their catalogue of vir- 
tues. The establishment of a correct character is their first, 
object, and the good opinion of t"*e world the instrument 
by which they establish it. This keeps their views low ; 
though it costs as much pains and precaution to keep nj) a 
high reputation on worldly grounds as it would to cultivate 
the principle itself, whose results would, in some rf* 
be nearly the same as what they are labouring to a 
To he die thing would be a shorter cut io ban bV 

sajQt sjtudy and effort to I ai ance. 

Pr< ;. for 

- ' ■ . .-;:- 



194 WHY SOME GOOD SORT OF 

qualities which are supposed to lie behind, and are only 
prevented by diffidence from appearing. They carry on 
with each other an intercourse of reciprocal, but measured 
flattery ; this serves to promote kindness to each other, 
and esteem for themselves. Self-complacency is rather 
kept out of sight by the delicacy of good breeding, than 
subdued by religious conviction. They are rather govern- 
ed by certain of the more sober worldly maxims, than by 
the strictness of Christian discipline. Though they fear 
sin, and avoid it, yet it is to be suspected they most careful* 
ly avoid those faults which are most disreputable, and that 
its impropriety has its full share in their abhorrence, with 
its turpitude. 

As to religion, they rather respect, than love it. They 
seem to intimate, that there is something of irreverence in 
any familiarity with the subject, and place it at an awful 
distance, as a thing whose mysterious grandeur would be 
diminished by a too near approach. Another reason why 
they consider religion rather as an object of veneration 
than affection, is because they erroneously conceive it tt> 
be an en^emy to innocent pleasure. 

If they are not perfectly good Christians, it is not be- 
cause they are good Jews, for they do not " talk of the 
words'' winch were commanded under that dispensation, 
when they sit in their house, and when they walk by the way, 
and when they lie down, and when they rise up. Religion 
engages iheir regard somewhat in the way in which the 
laws of the land engage it, as something sacred, from being 
established by custom and precedent ; as a valuable institu- 
tion for the preservation of the public good ; but it does 
not interest their feelings ; they do not consider it so much 
a thing of individual concern, as of general protection. 
Of its establishment by authority they think more highly, 
than of its business with their own hearts ; of its influence 
in maintaining general order, than of its efficacy in pro- 
tasting in themselves peace and joy. In short, they carve 



PEOPLE A3E NOT BETTER. 195 

out an image of religion not altogether unorthodox, but 
which, like the uninformed statue of the enamoured artist, 
though a beautiful figure, is without life, or power, or 
motion. 

The more obvious duties being discharged, they are a lit- 
tle inclined to think, that too considerable <% portion of 
their time and talents are left at their own disposal Large 
intervals of leisure are rather assumed to be a necessary re- 
pose and refreshment from right employments and benevo- 
lent actions, and as purchased by their performance, than 
as having any specific application of their own. In short, 
things which they call indifferent, make up too large a por- 
tion of their scheme of life, and in their distribution of time. 

The class we are considering are apt to be very severe 
in their censures of those who have lost their reputation, 
while they are rather too charitable to those who only de- 
i-erve to lose it. This excessive valuation of externals is 
not likely to be accompanied with great candour in judging 
the discredited and the unfortunate. Errors which we our- 
selves have had no temptation to commit, we are too much 
disposed to think out of the reach of pardon ; and, while 
we justly commend innocence, we give too little credit to 
repentance. 

The misfortune is, they do not so much as suspeGt that 
there is any higher siate of being, any degree of spiritual 
life, beyond what they have attained. They consider re- 
ligion rather as a scheme of rules, than a motive principle, 
as a stationary point, than a perpetual progress. They 
consider its observances rather as an end, than a means. 
It is not so much natural presumption which roots^them 
where they are, for, in ordinary cases, they are perhaps diffi- 
dent and modest ; it is not always conceit which prevents 
their minds from shooting upwards : it is the low notion 
they entertain of the genius of Christianity ; it is the inade- 
quateness of th/ ir views with its requirements; it is their 
•'carnnaintrdness with the spirit of that religion which they 



i 96 \VH¥ SOx^IE GOOD SORT OF 

profess honestly, but understand indistinctly. This igno- 
rance makes them rest satisfied with a state which did not 
satisfy the great Apostle. While they think they have 
made a progress sufficient to justify them in believing they 
have " already attained," his vast attainments served only 
to prevent his looking back on them, served only to stimu- 
late him to press forward towards the mark. Some good 
sort of people, on the contrary, act as if they were afraid of 
feeing r"! itf er.ent from what they are, orof being surprised in- 
to becoming better than they intended. , 

Among the many causes which concur to keep them at 
of determined distance from serious piety, a not 
uunon one is, their happening to hear of the injudi- 
cious exhibition of religion in one or more of its high but 
eccentric professors : these they affect to believe, are fair 
specimens of the so much vaunted religious world. In- 
stead of inquiring what is the true scriptural view of 
Christianity, that they may make nearer approaches to it, 
they are far more anxiously concerned to recede, as far as 
possible, from persons who falsely profess to be its best 
representatives. They conclude, and, in some instances, 
Imt too justly, that the profession of these people has not 
transformed their hearts, but their connections ; that they 
have adopted a party rather than a principle, embraced a 
cloud for a goddess, and an opinion, instead of a rule of 
conduct j and they observe that they are unjust in their 
enmities to other classes, in proportion to the violence of 
their attachment to their own. It is no wonder if, with 
their partial view of the subject, they should be deterred, 
when they see these persons act as much below their 
system, as they themselves not seldom live above their 
own. 

But they do not act thus on other occasions. If they 
meet with an incompetent but blustering lawyer, or an 
unskilful but presumptuous physician, instead of calumniat- 
ing the two learned faculties, instead of resolving to havt 



PEOPLE ARE NOT BETTER. 19,7 

10 more to do with either, they avoid the offending indi- 
viduals, and look oat for sounder practitioners. Hence, 
indeed, it is to be remarked by the way, there arises a new 
and powerful motive, why all who make a high profession 
of religion should not only be eminently careful to exhibit 
•an even and consistent practice, but should studiously 
avoid in their conversation all offensive phrases, and repul- 
sive expressions; why they should not be perpetually 
Intimating, as if preaching the Gospel was a party-busi- 
ness, and a business entirely confined to their own party. 

Worldly observers, of the better sort, cannot sometimes 
but perceive in the same class of religionists, less forbear- 
ance in their temper, less patience, less moderation and 
kindness, than they themselves evince ; they also remark 
in some of them, though it is doubtless done with a view 
not to substract from their charities, less generosity and 
largeness of heart than they see in many of their owh 
class ; a petty strictness in their dealings, not quite of a 
piece with the liberality, I had almost said, with the hones- 
ty, of Christianity. Unhappily, they are kept on their 
guard in the unnecessary dread of being righteous over- 
much, by the very peculiarities which, in these persons, 
indicate a defect rather than a redundancy. These indi- 
cations, however, which they conceive to be the distinctive 
marks of the whole tribe, make them stand aloof from 
Christians of the sounder class, in whom they might have 
seen, on a nearer approach, a fair and lovely exhibition of 
the principle by which they are governed. 

Another preventing cause of improvement is, their asso- 
ciating familiarly with persons of less worth than them- 
selves. This is injurious in two ways : — These sober fol- 
lowers of pleasure sanction its thoughtless devotee by the 
influence of their respectable character, and give weight to 
those who would otherwise have none, while, at the same 
lime, they cannot but feel their own decided superiority to 
those with whom their complaisance unites them 5 and when 
RS 



HIS WHY SOME GOOD SORT OF 

they compare themselves with characters so defective, they 
are in danger of resting still more satisfied with their own 
moderate, though higher, standard. But, tc*i>e conscious 
of being better than those who are bad, is no very solid 
ground either of comfort or credit. 

There is another co-operating cause which keeps down 
their growth of piety. They are conversant with various 
classes of writers on different subjects, who do not indeed 
go farther in their disregard of religion than to let it alone ; 
if they avowedly attacked it, the persons in question would 
take the alarm, and avoid the perusal of works obviously 
pregnant with evil. These writers do not always oppose 
it, but they have nothing to do with it ; they virtually say, 
we hare not so much as heard whether there be any Chris* 
tianity. We are far from meaning thai religion ought to 
he, or that it can, with propriety, be obtruded into subject? 
of a totally distinct nature. Yet, if its subtle and pervading 
principle were mixed up with the other ingredients in the 
mind of the author, the penetrating spirit would occasion- 
ally break through, not in matter, but in essence. Where 
this feeling exists in the heart, a ray of light will sometimes 
fall unconsciously on subjects which have no immediate 
connexion with it. In a cloudy day, though you do not 
fee the body of the sun, you know, from the light it emits 
that it is in its proper station. 

But the writers to whom we allude, take other ground ; 
they set out with other views ; their ethics have another 
cast. There is a pretty strong implication, especially in 
oompositions of some of our modish itinerants, how good 
men may be independent of religion. In writers of a sound- 
er cast, though also with these amusement be the professed 
object, with whatever flowers they strew the path, they en- 
tice you into no morasses, you always feel there is a bottom. 
You go on as much entertained as if you were misled. The 
pleasure gT an uncorrupted mind is not diminished by feel- 
ing himself safc, nor is it interrupted while he is gratifying 



PEOPLE ARE NOT. BETTER. 139 

bis fancy, by being obliged to watch that no trap is laid for 
his principles. 

To explain, by one or too instances : — Clarendon's and 
Burnet's Histories of their own Times no more profess to 
be religious works, than the Histories of Hume or Smollet. 
They are written by men of different political parties, of 
different professional engagements. Yet, though treating 
on subjects which naturally excluded any formal descants 
on religion, there is a predominating tendency which dis- 
closes the principles of both ; which affords a pledge of 
their general principles ; which makes tha reader feel him- 
self safe, because it assures him he is in the hands of a Chris- 
tian historian. 

Again ;— In travelling to the Hebrides with Johnson, it 
is no small thing to find, that we can be delighted without 
being in danger. The Tourist, without stepping out of his 
way to hunt for moral remark or religious suggestion, 
never forgets that he is a Christian moralist ; though in 
quest of mere amusement, we find our minds enriched with 
some just sentiment, fortified with some sound principle. 

But, in the modish school, the traveller presents his be- 
nevoient man, the novellist his perfect character, the mo- 
ralist his philosopher, the poet his hero, with principles, if 
not always elaborately in opposition to, yet thoroughly 
unconnected with, the Christian scheme. It is rather a 
silent counter-working of its necessity than an overt attack 
on its truth; for this strong measure is now less resorted to, 
as more repulsive and less successful. Neglect answers the 
end better than opposition. The longer any thing is kept 
out of sight, the less irksome its absence becomes, till from 
feeling it not necessary, we proceed to think it not real. 
The traces of right principle grow faint in the mind, 
when perpetually hid by interposing objects. The misfor- 
tune is, these works make up the larger part of the study 
of many readers, who do not so much desire to get rid of a 
stricter scheme, as to lose the preception that they have 
it not, and the remembrance that, perhaps, they once had it. 



( 2QQ 



CHAP. XVII 

1HE INQUIRY, WFIY SOME GOOD SORT OF PEOPLE ARE 
NOT BETTER, CONTINUED. 

There is one prominent cause which assists in preventing 
the persons considered in the preceding chapter from making 
any material proficiency ; and it is the very cause, which, 
if it had been rightly directed, would probably, in such 
minds, have led to a contrary end — their choice of 7*digio us 
reading ; it is, confining their pious studies exclusively and 
systematically to that low standard of divinity, which has 
cramped the growth of many well disposed persons. The 
beginning of the last century first presented us with this 
lax theology ; which, though it "has still its advocates and 
followers, they are, we trust, daily declining in num- 
bers and in credit. The excess to which this deteriorated 
Christianity has been carried in a recent academical exhi- 
bition of M Christian Liberty ? and especially in a late series 
of theological " Hints" by a professor of the law, has, it is 
to be hoped, produced a good effect When an evil has 
touched its ultimate point, may we not presume, that the 
practice may make a gradual retrocession to sound principle? 
In these, and similar writers, no one but sees that the road 
to heaven is made far more smooth and easy than the Scrip- 
tures have made it; so smooth, as to invite many, and ad* 
vance none ; so easy, that not only, as in the old code, thos« 
who run may read, but those who sleep may conquer. 

But what still renders this meagre divinity unfortunately 
too acceptable, is, that it teaches a camplacency in our own 
goodness ; that goodness, the acquisition of which is ren« 
dered easy, because it falls in so readily with our natural 
corruptions. The truth js, we require less to be excited 
to the practice of some insulated virtues, which these au- 
thors d# not negleet to recommend? thaa to the abasing of 



PEOPLE ARE SOT BETTER, SiO\ 

that pride which they rather foster than correct. When 
we hear so much of the dignity of human nature, we secret- 
Jy exult in our participation of that dignity ; we take to 
ourselves a full share of that stock of excellence lavishly 
attributed to our species, and are ready to exclaim, und I, 
too, cm a man ! These writers make their way to the af- 
fections by a plausibility of manner which veils the shal- 
lowness of their reasoning. But the great engine of suc- 
cess, as we have already observed, is the prudent accom- 
modation of the reasoning to the natural propensities of 
the heart, and the flattering the very evils, the existence 
of which they yet deny. The reader welcomes the doc- 
trines which put him in good humour with himself; he 
cordially credits the prophesier of smooth things, and is 
pleased, in proportion as he is not alarmed. That which 
does not go to the root of the evil—evil which cannot be 
cured without being disturbed — that which does not irritate 
the patient, by laying open the peccant part, will be natu- 
rally acceptable. 

These writers are too much disposed to address their 
readers as if they were already religious ; as requiring, in- 
deed, to be reminded, but not as requiring to be alarmed ; 
as expecting commendation for what they are, rather than 
admonition as to what they ought to be. They take for 
granted, what in some cases requires proof, that all are 
Christians, not in profession, but in reality : and the same 
uniform class of instructions, or rather of gratuitous posi- 
tions, is directed to the whole mass, without any individual 
searchings of the heart, without any distinct address, any 
discriminating application to that variety of classes of which 
society is compounded. To the profligate liver, or the 
more decent sensualist ; to the sceptical moralist, or the 
careless believer ; to all perhaps, if we might except that 
most hated heretic, the fanatical over-believer, is the one 
soothing panegyric, or the one frigid admonition, addres- 
sed. We do not pretend to say that virtue is not reconv 



2Q£ WHY SOME GOOD SORT OF 

mended, but as Seneca and Antoninus bad recommended 
it before, so they had done it better, less vaguely, and more 
pointedly. Many of the virtues, by the practice of which 
the readers are taught that salvation is to be obtained, they 
cannot but feel to be their own virtues ; this, while it sets 
their apprehensions at rest, naturally fills them with com- 
placency in their actual character, instead of kindling an 
ardent desire after higher attainments. Vices, from which 
they must foe conscious thev are exempt, and which they 
have as little excitement as occasion to practise, are pro- 
perly censured : but the evil dispositions of the heart, 
which if insisted on and pointedly laid open, would set 
them upon examining their own, are passed over, or light- 
ly treated, or softened down into natural weakness, par- 
donable imperfection, or accidental infirmity. The heart 
is not considered as the perennial fountain of all actual of- 
fence and error. 

A theology which depresses the standard, which over- 
looks the motives, which dilutes the doctrines, softens the 
precepts, lowers the sanctions, and mutilates the scheme of 
Christianity - y which merges it in undefined generalities, 
which makes it consist in a system of morals which might 
be interwoven into almost any religion — for there are few 
systems of religion which profess or teach immorality ; a 
theology which neither makes Jesus Christ the foundation, 
nor the Holy Spirit the efficient agent, nor inward reno- 
vation a leading principle nor humility a distinguishing 
characteristic ; which insists on a good heart, but demands 
not a renewed heart ; which inserts virtues into the stock 
of the old nature, but insists not on the necessity of a chang- 
ed nature ; — such a theology is not that which the costly 
apparatus of Christianity was designed to present to us. 
If it teaches that we have virtues to attam and imperfec- 
tions to be cured, it insinuates that the one may be attained 
by our own strength, and the other cured without divine 
assistance. Our faults, if we have asy, are tc be surmount- 



PEOPLE ARE N&T BETTER 203 

ed by our reason, and our virtues to be improved from a 
regard to our comfort and the advancement of our credit ; 
for the satisfaction they afford, and the reputation they 
procure us. The good man of these writers, like the good 
man of the ancient Stoics, is so full of virtue as to leave no 
room for repentance, so faultless that humility would be af- 
fectation. Like them they seem almost to diminish the 
distance between their Maker and themselves, by exalting 
the man and lowering the Deity. 

The persons in question frequently read the Scriptures, 
and we are ready to wonder that in reading them they do 
not perceive their disagreement with the authors to whom 
we allude. There, all the doctrines overlooked by them, 
are pressed in every page but whether they read without 
remarking the difference, or whether, though in the use 
(as w r e hope) of daily prayer, they neglect to implore that 
divine spirit which inspired the Scriptures, to direct the 
truths they contain to their hearts ; they do not seem to 
enter into the grand peculiarities of the Gospel ; nor into 
the personal interest they have in the doctrines it incul- 
cates, and the precepts it enforces. How many read the 
account of the fall of Adam, as an historical fact, of which, 
they never entertained a doubt, yet without feeling any 
more individual concern in it, than in the fall of Babylon ; 
without being sensible of any corresponding contamination 
in their own hearts. When told of the self denying doc* 
trines which Christianity includes, they triumphantly pro- 
duce passages, not only from Solomon and St. Paul, but 
from the Saviour himself, which completely contradict such 
gloomy assertions, that the ways of wisdom are ways of 
pleasantness^ and all her paths are peace; that Christ's 
commands are not grievous; that his yoke is easy, with a 
multitude of the same animating strain. But they produce 
them, not so much because they are indeed most delightful 
truths, as because they are supposed to annul such less en- 
gaging i^rAs as are descriptive of ike strait gate, and tl& 



204 WHY S03XE GOOD SORT OF 

narrow way, and the few who enter them ; of the difficulty 
with which the rich, that is, those who trust in riches, shall 
attain to heaven ; that taking up the cross is an indispensa- 
ble qualification for the followers of him who suffered on 
it, with an endless multitude of similar passages. 

Now the truth is, there is not the slightest disagreement 
between these two classes of texts. The unqualified peace r 
joy, and comfort, expressed in the former, represent what 
religion is in herself, describe her native excellence, her 
genuine beauty, her original perfection. Whereas the dif- 
ficulties attached to the second class arise necessarily from 
that depravity of the will, that alienation from God and 
goodness, which renders that irksome which is in itself de- 
lightful. To him who knows, because he feels, the natu- 
ral* reluctance of the heart to the requisitions of a religion 
calculated to produce these happy effects, there is a perfect 
-congruity between the passages thus set in opposition. 
Though both are true, each is consistent with the other ; 
but their truth and consistency strike not those who reject 
or adopt what best suits their creed or their convenience. 

They know, indeed, that they must give a nominal as- 
sent to the doctrine of divine assistance, because it is said 
to be a doctrine of that Scripture which they believe ; but 
they assent to it with implicitness, rather than conviction, 
and if they do allow the intervention of the Holy Spirit, 
they attach an undue value to human agency. If they 
say, they are far from excluding heavenly aid, their assent 
fsqmewhat resembles that of the Welch captain, who, when 
Henry the Fifth, after the battle of Agincourt, ascribed ex- 
clusively the victory*to God,coolly replied, " indeed he did 
-tis great good,'' 

But many of the writers to whom we have adverted, 
and by whom the persons in question are influenced, seem 
to i::ake their reverence for the Scriptures aground for 
disallowing the agency of the spirit ; as if there were not 
fjhe most perfect agreement between an appeal to the one 



PEOPLE ARE NOT BETTER* 205 

and a belief in the other. The spirit of God leads us to no 
new instructor, but only points us to his word, teaching us 
to discern it more clearly and to receive it more affection- 
ately. That would be, indeed, an illusion, not an illumi- 
nation, which would direct us to derive our instruction from 
any other fountain than the oracles of truth. 

These persons are striking instances how dexterously we 
contrive to turn the scale in our own favour, by balancing 
some lesser fault to which we are not inclined, against some 
strongly besetting wrong propensity. We seldom soften 
down any precept that is not pointed at our particular 
temptation. All the other laws we allow to be not only 
good and holy, but just, for they only affect other people. 
The young man in the Gospel had no objection to those 
commandments which were suggested to him as the rule of 
duty; for he was chaste and honest, neither a disobedient 
son nor a murderer, neither addicted to idolatry nor pro- 
faneness ; but the command to dispossess himself of his for- 
tune for charitable purposes cut deep, for he was not only 
rich, but avaricious. It is thus we prevaricate with duty. 
We would warp the precept to our passions, instead of 
bending our inclinations to the duty. We lament the 
harshness of the command, when we should be lamenting 
the perversity of the will. 

A low standard of religion flatters our vanity, is easily 
acted up to, does not wound our self-love, is practicable 
without sacrifices, and respectable without self-denial. It 
allows the implantation of virtues without eradicating vi- 
ces, recommends right actions without expelling wrong 
principles, and grafts fair appearances upon unresisted cor 
ruptions. 

This low tone of religion is rendered still more accepta- 
ble, from being sprinkled with frequent vituperations of 
that species of Christianity now derided by a term whicb 
was -once considered as its specific character. This term s . 
what with the too monopolizing adoption of it by one de~ 



£06 WHY SOME GOOD S#«T #3? 

seription of persons, and the contemptuous implication cw- 
veyed in the use of it by another, we almost fear to use 
lest we should be conjuring up the spirit of fanaticism hi 
the minds of the latter class, or vindicating its exclusive 
adoption in the language of the former. The assumption 
©f names on the one hand, and, if I may venture so vulgar 
a phrase, calling names on the other, have been of infinite, 
disservice to religion. Such is the new meaning now as~ 
signed to old terms, that we doubt if the application of 
the epithet in question would not excite a sneer, if not a 
suspicion, against the character of Isaiah himself, were we 
to name him by his ancient denomination the Evangelical 
Prophet. This laconic term includes a diatribe in a word. 
It is established into a sweeping term of derision of all se- 
rious Christians, and its compass is stretched to such an ex- 
tent, as to involve within it every shade and shape of real 
or fictitious piety, from the elevated but sound and sober 
Christian, to the wildest and most absurd fanatic ; its large. 
mclosure takes in all, from the most honourable heights of 
erudition to the most contemptible depths of ignorance. 
Every man who is serious, and every man who is silly, every 
man who is holy, and every man who is mad, is included in 
ibis comprehensive epithet. We see perpetually that so- 
lidity, sublimity, and depth, are not found a protection 
against the magic mischief of this portentous appellation. 

It gratifies us to be assured that our own tone is suffi- 
ciently high, and that, whatever is higher, is erroneous, or 
superfluous, or hypocritical, or ridiculous. This it is which 
attaches many a reader to the opposite style of writing, and, 
in proportion as it attaches him, by reconciling him more to 
himself, animates him more fiercely against those who make 
higher requisitions of faith and holiness, those who strip off 
the mask from actions unfounded in principle, who exact 
self-abasement, who insist on the necessity of good works, 
not as a meritorious ground of salvation, but as an evidence* 
<>f obedience to QpA t anj of conformity to Christ. 



PEOPLE A*tE NOT BETTER. 207 

?t sincerely do we J>elieve, that there is nothing which 
{he better sort of this class dread more than hypocrisy. But 
do they not sometimes dread the imputation almost as much 
as the thing? And is it not to be feared that, with the dread 
of this odious vice being imputed to them, is a little connec- 
ted the suspicion of its existence in all who go farther than 
themselves? *Are they not too ready to accuse of want of 
sincerity or of soberness, every one who rises above their 
own level ? Is not every degree of warmth in their pious 
affections, every expression of zeal in their conversation, 
every indication of strictness in their practice, construed in- 
to an implication, that so much as this zeal and strictness 
exceed their own, there is in them just so much error as 
that excess involves ? 

By the class of writers to which they are attached, the 
pious affections are branded as the stigma of enthusiasm, 
But a religion which is all brain, and no heart, is not the 
religion of the Gospel. The spirit there exhibited is as far 
removed from philosophical apathy, as from the intemperate 
language of passion. There are minds so constituted, and 
liearts so touched, that they cannot meditate on the incar- 
nation of the Son of God, his voluntary descent from the 
glory which he had with his Father from all eternity, his 
dying for us men and for our salvation — with the same un- 
moved temper with which they acknowledge the truth of 
sniy other fact. A grateful feeling, excited by these causes, 
is as different from a fanatical fervor as it is from a languid 
acknowledgment. It is not energy, however, which is re- 
probated, so much as the cause of its excitement. Should 
the zealous Christian change the object of his admiration, 
-should he express the same animated feeling for Socrates, 
which the other had expressed for his Saviour, his enthusi- 
asm would be ascribed to his good taste, and the objecx 
would be allowed to justify the rapture. 

But, is not objecting to earnestness in religion to strike 
out of the catalogue of virtues that quality which so emi: 



263 "WHY SOME GOOD SORT OF 

nently distinguished the scripture worthies? Is it n«t 
denying that " spirit of power and of love" which, it is 
worth observing, the Apostle makes the associate of " a 
" sound mind," to deny that Christianity ought to make an 
impression on the heart, and if on the heart, on the feelings? 
These fastidious critics place, what they call the abstract 
truths of religion, on the same footing with abstract truths 
ki science ; they allow only the same intellectual conviction 
of truth, the same cool assent, in the one case, which is 
given to a demonstration in the other. But would not he 
be thought a defective orator at the bar, or in the senate, 
who should plead as if he did not know that men had fee- 
lings to be touched as well as understandings to be convin- 
ced : who considered the affections as the only portion of 
character to which he must be careful not to adveit in ad- 
dressing beings who are feeling as well as intelligent ? Shall 
a fervent rhetoric be admired in one orator, when pleading 
for the freedom of men, and reprobated in another, when 
pleading for their salvation? Shall we be enraptured with 
the eloquent advocate for the Agrarian law, and disgusted 
with the strenuous advocate for the everlasting Gospel? 
Shall no: one man be allowed the same earnestness in com* 
bating unbelief, which has immortalized another in execrat- 
ing Verres ? 

It must, assuredly, be maintained, thai there is such a 
sober mode of exhibiting truth, as may shew that the sa- 
cred messenger has no delight in declaring that part of Ins 
message which yet it is his duty to deliver ; which, while it 
cannot fail to call forth every feeling of interest for the 
gouls of men, at the same time demands the utmost tender- 
ness, as treating of their dangers. Tenderness, it is true, 
must not alter truth, nor conceal menaces, which make an 
awful part of it. Yet a difference may be sometimes infer- 
red by the manner of delivering them. Who has not heard 
a holy man, who, feeling himself bound to declare the whole 
counsel of God, has denounced his solemn judgments wi& 



PEOPLE ARE NOT BETTERS £09 

idued voice, and an almost hesitating accent ; speaking 
as one who felt that lie was acquitting himself of a painful, 
hut bounden duty ; — while another of a coarser make, and 
a less mortified spirit, proclaims the commanded threat in 
•all the thunders of Sinai ; seeming, by his tone and gesture, 
to rejoice that it has fallen to his lot to alarm, and not to 
■console ? The one " persuades men" because he knows " the 
<* terrors of the Lord ; M the other seems to have his own gra- 
tification in terrifying. The one evidently rejoices in being 
the ambassador of reconciliation, the other appears, but is 
aot, we are assured, really, glad to bear the mandate of 
letwaation. 
But, to return to writers in the extreme of the other 

—Vague essays on general and undefined morality, 

h we here venture to represent as their fault, are very 
<Iiiferent from distinct discourses or treatises on the several 

eg ; these latter flow from the study, and teach the im- 
provement, of the human heart. But to produce their ef- 
fect, they must produce their commission. The proclama- 
tion must always have the broad seal of Christianity appen- 
ded to it. It is indeed not only unnecessary, but impossible 
and imprudent, that in every discourse the whole scheme 
of Christian doctrine should be laid open. An attempt to 
<io this has frequently produced confusion, by crowding m 
more materials than the space w 7 ill contain ; and thus leav- 
ing the stamp of no-one truth distinct upon the mind. We 
mean no more, than that the general impression made, 
•should be, that the moral quality under discussion should 
appear to be explicitly derived from the school of Christ, 
and the reader not be left to exercise his ingenuity in con- 
jecturing, till the closing sentence informs him, to what syi- 
tern of religion it belongs. 

It is also perfectly proper to cut the circle of the virtues 
into segments, provided it be shewn how they are con- 
nected with each other, and how the whole fail within the 
ice of Chat divine religion which is their proper 
s 2 



210 WHY SOME GOOD SORT OF 

centre. It were also to be wished, that there were no u 
due and hyperbolical exaltation of the virtue Under col 
sideration, which often makes a part stand for the whole. 
This exclusive praise of the quality inculcated, is, to Chris- 
tianity, what it would be to general geography, if, in order 
to give an idea of cur world, a map of a single country 
should be exhibited without coast or boundary. It differs 
from the Christian exhibition of moral virtues, as this insu- 
lated map would differ from a chart of the same country 
when delineated on the globe ; there you see not only the 
country itself correctly displayed, but you perceive by what 
sea it is bordered, on what land it touches, into what other 
country some points of this cut deeip, and how narrow are 
the bounds which separate it from some hostile neighbour ; 
you see, also, its dependance on every thing about it, and 
its relative situation on the earth. 

If we might be allowed another illustration, we would 
observe, that, to expect to give a just idea of Christianity 
by any quality, as detached from the whole, would be to 
resemble a certain Athenian, who, having a palace to sell, 
took out a single brick from the wall, and produced it at 
the auction as a specimen of the edifice. 

Nor, as we humbly coneeive, is it a superfluous care, so 
to contrive, as that, when it is right to expose any vice to 
reprobation, the reader who is exempt from it may not too 
much plume himself upon the exemption. A venerable 
clergyman once assured the author, that he had never done 
so much mischief as by the.best sermon he had ever preach- 
ed. It was against the sin of drunkenness. It happened 
to be an offence to which none of his auditors were addict- 
ed. After it was over, some of them expressed no small tri- 
umph at their own secure state, from a consciousness of be- 
ing free from the vice which had been so well exposed, and, 
as if the exercise of no virtue but the one opposite to the 
sin in question had been necessary, they went home exult- 
ing in their own superior goodness. 



PEOPLE ARE NOT BETTER, 211 

The writers to whom we have been referring, trium- 
phantly distinguish themselves by the appellation of practi- 
cal, in studied opposition to those who are professedly doc- 
trinal. Let it, however, be observed, that, maintaining 
a due respect for the conscientious of both classes, we only 
presume to allude, in our animadversion, to those of either 
side, who carry their specific characteristics into an ex- 
treme , in which each excludes its opposite. But far more 
deficient are the practical discussions of the one, if they 
want the solid weight and metal of the Gospel to make 
them sterling, than the doctrinal dissertations of the other; 
which, however, ought never to want the intelligible super- 
scription of practical remark to render them current. Yet 
is there not sometimes a misnomer in the former appella- 
tion ? Can that writing be called truly practical which 
does not attempt greatly to raise the tone of conduct, which 
does not press practice home on the conscience as flowing 
from the highest principle, and directed to the noblest end ; 
which is not urged on that ground of argument that is the 
most cogent, nor inferred from that motive which is the 
most irresistible, nor impressed by that authority best cal- 
culated to secure obedience ? The nature of the action 
commonly participates in the nature of the motive. Prac- 
tice is not likely to rise higher than the spring which set it 
a-going. 

At the same time, it is but fair to confess, that much of 
that species of composition which assumes a more spiritual 
character, is sometimes lamentably deficient in this grand 
requisite. It begins not seldom, by laying a good and 
solid foundation ; but when we lift our eyes to look upon 
the structure which we expected to see raised upon it, we 
find it negligently run up, if not totally omitted. Practice 
seems to be considered as a thing of course, not necessary 
to be insisted on, much less to have its path clearly chalked 
out. The use to be made of -the doctrine which has been 
delivered, is turned over to the piety or ingenuity of tlte 



£1 2 WHY SOME GOOD SORT OF 

reader, without any specific direction, or personal amplica- 
tion. Too much is left for him to supply, which perhaps, 
implicitly leaning on his guide, he will not supply, or vv 
from want of knowledge, he cannot. 

Far be it from our intention, however, in thusvenu: 
with real diffidence to compare the faulty extremes in both 
cases, to assimilate at all their nature or their tendency : — 
the extreme of adherence to doctrine frequently springing 
from the deepest sense of the infinite importance of that 
doctrine, and accompanied with a pious willingness to spend 
and be spent, in its propagation. The extreme of adhe- 
rence to what is called mere morality, is too often the la- 
mentable effect of ignorance of doctrine, and of an interest 
neither felt, nor possessed, nor desired, in doctrinal blessings. 

With this guard distinctly kept in,, view, we venture, 
with all humility, to repeat, that there is an extreme on 
both sides : the one may be abstractedly considered as all 
propositions, the other as all conclusions. The one fails of 
effect by not depending on just premises ; in the other, well 
established premises produce inferior good, because the con- 
clusions are not sufficiently brought to bear on the actual 
demands of life. The one, while he powerfully shews the 
reader that he is a sinner, limits both his proof and his in- 
struction to one or two prominent doctrines ; he names, in- 
deed, with unwearied iteration, that only name by which 
we can be saved, faithfully dwells on the efficacy of the di- 
vine remedy, but without clearly pointing out its appli- 
cation to practical purposes. The other presumes his read- 
ers to be so wise, as to be able to supply their own de« 
riciencies, or so good, as to stand in little deed of superna- 
tural assistance. Is it not mocking human helplessness, to 
tell men they must be holy, good, and just, without direct- 
ing them to the principle from whence " all holy thoughts, 
all good counsels, and all just works, do proceed" — to di- 
rect the stream of action, and keep out of sight the spring 
from which it must flow — to expect they will renounc 



JPBOPLR ARB NOT BETTER, 213 

if they do not renounce self— to send them vagrant in search 
of some stray virtue, without shewing them where to apply 
for direction to find it ? 

The combination of the opposite but indispensable requi- 
sites is most happily exemplified in all our best divines, liv- 
ing and dead ; and, blessed be God, very numerous is the 
catalogue ia both instances. They have, with a large and 
liberal construction, followed that most perfect exemplifi- 
cation of this union which is so generally exhibited in Scrip- 
ture, more particularly in that express model, the third 
chapter of the Epistle to the Colossians. There, every 
thing that is excellent in practice is made to proceed from 
Him <4 in whom are hidden ail the treasures of wisdom and 
knowledge.'* There, every act has its inspiring motive, 
every virtue its radical principle ; falsehold is not only pro- 
hibited to the converts, but the prohibition is accounted 
for, " because ye have put on the new man." r J he obedi- 
ence of wife«, the affection of husbands, the submission of 
children, all is to be done " in the name of the Lord Jesus." 
— Servants are enjoined to fidelity as " fearing God.' 
u Mercies, kindness 1 , humbleness of mind, meekness, long- 
suffering," are recommended, because the converts u are the 
elect of God n Every inhibition of every wrong practice 
has its reference to Christ, every act of goodness its legiti- 
mate principle. Contentions are forbidden, forgiveness is 
enjoined, on the same high ground — the example of " Him 
m whom dwelle-A all the fulness of the Godhead bodily . }> 
This is practical preach*' j— This is evangelical preaching, 



( 214 ) 



CHAP. XVIII. 

THOUGHTS RESPECTFULLY SUGGESTED TO GOOD SORT 
OF PEOPLE. 

In perusing the foregoing chapter, it may he, a? 
with unwearied repetition, objected, that it is equal! ■ 
posterous and unjust, to hold out a standard of religion and 
morals so high, as to defeat, in the reader, all hope of at- 
taining to it. It may be urged that it would be mere pru- 
dent, as well as more useful, to propose a more moderate 
standard, and to suggest a more temperate measure, which 
would not, as in the present case, by discouraging, r 
attainment hopeless. For an answer, we must send them 
to the Redeemer's own mouth, to the excision of the 
hand, the plucking out the right eye. This, it will be 
justly insisted, is not a command, but a metaphor. G 
ed. — We know we are not commanded to lop oil our limbs, 
but our corruptions. But, would He who is not only true, 
but the Truth, adopt a strong metaphor to express a 
feeble obligation? Is any tone, then, may we not ask, too 
high, if not higher than that uniformly employed it 
Bible ? What do we mean, when we say, that we receive 
the Gospel as a rule of faith and practice, if, having 
the declaration, we instantly go, and, without scruple, low- 
er the rule, and depress the practice ? 

High and low are indefinite terms : their just nse 
pends on the greatness or littleness of the objects to which 
they refef . When we consider, that the object in question 
is eternal life, should the standard which God has made the 
measure of our attaining to it, be so depressed as to prevent 
that attainment ? Do not the Apostles and their Master, 
the Saints and the King of Saints, every where suggest a 
rule, not only of excellence., but perfection; a rule to the 
adoption of which no hopelessness of attainment is to pre- 
vent our stretching forward ? 



THOUGHTS SUGGESTED, &C, 215 

Scripture does, indeed, every where represent us as in- 
competent without divine assistance. But does it not eve- 
ry where point out where our strength lies ; where it is to 
tee sought; how it is to be obtained? It not only shews 
where our wants may be supplied, but our failures pardon- 
ed. Does any one doctrine, any one precept, of the Gos- 
pel, deal in emollients, prescribe palliatives, suggest petty 
reliefs, point out inferior remedies, speak of any medicine, 
but such as is proportioned to the depth of the disease ? 

Yet it is not uncommon for those whose views have been 
low, and whose practice, consequently, has not been high, 
to combine with this mediocrity of character the most ex- 
alted expectation of future recompence ; to couple a com- 
paratively low faith and conduct, with those lofty promises 
which the New Testament holds out to the most exalted 
Christian. Many in the day of health and activity would 
have considered " taking up the cross/' " living to him who 
died for them," &c. &c. as figurative expressions, lively 
images, not exacting much practical obedience : nay, would 
have considered the proposal of bringing them into action 
as downright enthusiasm ; yet who has not heard these per- 
sons, in a dangerous sickness, repeat with entire self-appli- 
cation the glorious and hard-earned exultation of him, w T ho, 
after unrivalled sufferings and unparalleled services, after 
having been " in deaths oft," after having been even favoured 
with a glimpse of heaven, exclaims, u I have fought a good 
fight, I have finished my course," — and then go on, with 
the most delusive complacency, to apply to themselves the 
sublime apostrophe with wiiich this fine exclamation is 
v/ound up, -'* henceforth there is laid up for me a crown 
of glory," &g. &c. : and it has passed into an accredited 
phrase, when one of this sort of Christians speaks of the 
death of another in the same class, to observe, with an ah- 
of triumph, that he is gone to his reward. We must confess, 
that Vv hen we hear this assurance *o applied, we charitably 
incline to hope it is not so bad with them as the express ri 



216 THOUGHTS SUGGESTED TO 

implies ; because, if heaven is thus assigned as a payment 
of work done, one cannot help trembling at a reward ap- 
portioned to such worth. For these contractors for heaven, 
Who bring their merit as their purchase-money, and intend 
to be saved at their own expence, do not always take care 
to be provided with a very exorbitant sum, though they 
expect so large a return in exchange for it ; while those 
who, placing no dependance on their works, never dare to 
draw upon heaven for the payment, Will often be found to 
have a much larger stock upon hand, ready to produce as 
an evidence, though they renounce them as a claim. In 
both cases, is it not safer to transfer them and ourselves from 
merit to mercy, as a more humble and less hazardous ground 
of dependance ? 

Far be from me the uncharitable presumption, that thes* 
sanguine persons are destitute of principle, or void of right 
intentions. Doubtless, in many instances, they persevere 
in error for no reason, but because they believe it to be 
truth. There is even much that is right in them ; but are 
they not too easily satisfied with a low measure of that 
right, without examining accurately the quality of the 
practice, merely because it is not disreputable. 

Our knowledge of religion and sound morals must in- 
evitably arise, in a good measure, from the knowledge of 
ourselves. Now, the kind of reading of which we have 
complained, is so far from improving that knowledge, that 
it keeps it out of our sight, by representing us to ourselves 
as other creatures than we really are. The most ingeni- 
ous abstract reasoning on man will not shew him what sort 
of being he is, if he be not taught to know it within himself. 
He must seek it in the depths of his own mind* and compare 
what he finds there with the unerring , law of God. The 
facts he might deduce, and the experiments he might make 
from the study of both in conjunction, would teach him 
either to confirm or correct his theory ; his experience, if 
it did not establish, would overturn his speculations, an£ 
ire would begin t* buHd on sew ground. 



GOOD SORT OF PEOPLE. 217 

May we not be allowed with all tenderness and respect, 
not with the arrogance of any superiority, but such as is 
the inevitable fruit of long observation, to suggest a few of 
the many remedies against the evil we have been regretting? 
The true preliminary to vital religion is to feel and acknow- 
ledge our lapsed humanity. There is no entrance into the 
temple of Christianity but through this lowiy vestibule. 
All the dissertations of the most profound philosophers on 
the reasonableness and beauty of our religion, on its excel- 
lence and superiority, are but a fruitless exercise of inge- 
nuity and eloquence, if they exclude this fundamental truth. 
The ablest writer, if he does not feel this conviction in his 
own heart, will never carry it to yours. But if you have 
once got over this hard and humbling introduction, the 
same divine guide who has given this initiatory opening, 
will, to the patient and persevering inquirer, perfect the 
work he has so happily begun- While he who turns over 
the page of his own virtues, and ransacks the catalogue of 
his good actions, will find that, under the pretence of seek- 
ing consolation, he is evading instruction ; he is only heap- 
ing up materials for building confidence in himself — " by 
that sin fell the angels" — and may be in little less dan. t 
than the flagitious offender. Our Lord has decided on this 
momentous question, by his preference of the self abasing 
penitent who had nothing to ask but mercy, to him who 
had nothing to request but praise ; of the lowly confessor of 
his offences to the pompous recounter of his virtues ; whose 
prayer, if self-panegyric deserves that name, plainly de- 
clared that he already possessed so much, that there was 
nothing left for him to ask. Our Saviour took this occa- 
sion to let us see that he is better pleased when we^shew 
him our wants, than our merits. 

As you do not live in the practice or the allowance of 
vices, which make it your interest to wish that Christiani- 
ty may be false, and as you believe its external evidences, 
endeavour to gain also an internal conviction that it is true 

T 



21S THOUGHTS SUGGESTED TO 

Examine aiso into the principle of your best actions. Even 
some who have made a more considerable proficiency, are 
too apt to defer examining into the motive, till they have 
concluded the act which the motive should have determin- 
ed ; they then, as it were, make up the motive to the act, 
and bring about the accordance in a way to quiet their 
own minds. Perhaps interest is acting on an opinion. 
which we fancied that wisdom had suggested. If it succeed, 
we compliment ourselves on the event ; if it fail, we ap- 
plaud ourselves on the assigned, because we are not quite 
sure of the real, motive. 

The way to make a progress in piety and peace, is not 
to be too tender of our present feelings; is nobly to make 
some sacrifice of immediate ease, for the sake of acquiring 
future happiness. Desire not opiates, seek not anodynes, 
when your internal constitution requires stimulants. Cease 
io conceive of religion as a stationary thing; be assured, 
that to be available, it must be progressive. Read the 
Scriptures, not as a form, but as God's great appointed 
means, of infusing into your heart that life-giving principle 
which is the spring of all right practice. Cultivate every 
virtue, but rest not in any. Do every thing to deserve the 
esteem of men, but make not that esteem your governing 
principle. Value not most those qualities which are the 
most popular. Correct your worldly wisdom with u the 
wisdom which is from above." Bear in your recollection, 
that, to minds of a soft and yielding cast, the world is a 
more formidable enemy than those two other rival tempters 
which the New Testament commonly associates with it, 
and which would not, generally, have made a third in Mich 
corrupt company, if its dangers had not borne some pro- 
portion to theirs. It is the more necessary to press this 
point, as the mischiefs of the world are felt without being 
The other two spiritual enemies seize on the 
more corrupt ; but the better disposed are the unconscious 
tbs of the world, which frequently betrays its votary 



GOOD SORT OF PEOPLE. 219 

into the hands of its two confederates. People are in- 
clined to be pleased with themselves when the world flat- 
ters them ; they make the world their supreme arbiter ; 
they are unwilling to appeal from so lenient a judge ; and, 
being satisfied with themselves, when its verdict is in their 
favour, the applause of others too often, by confirming 
their own, supersedes an inquiry into their real state. 

The unconfirmed Christian should attend to his conduct 
just in those points which, though dishonest, are not 
dishonourable; points in which, though religion will be. 
against him, the approbation of the w r orld will bear him 
out. He would not do a disreputable thing, but should a 
temptation arise where his reputation is safe, there his tri- 
al commences, there he must guard himself with augment- 
ed vigilance. 

The more enlightened the conscience becomes, the more 
we shall discover the unspeakable holiness of God. But 
our perceptions being cleared, and our spiritual discern- 
ment rendered more acute, this must ngt lead us to fancv 
that we are wwse than when we thought so well of our- 
selves. We are not worse, because the growing light of 
divine truth reveals faults unobserved before to our view, 
or enlarges those we thought insignificant. Light .doer, 
not create impurities, it only discloses sthem. Moreover, 
this efficient spirit does not illuminate without correcting; 
it is not only given for reproof, but amendment; not only 
for amendment, but consolation. Our unhappiness doe<; 
not consist in that contrition which grows out of our new 
acquaintance with our own hearts. The true misery con- 
'isted in the blindness, presumption, and self-sufficiency, 
which our ignorance of ourselves generated. Our true fe- 
licity begins in our being brought, however severe be the 
means, to renounce our self-confidence, and cast ourselves 
entirely upon God. 

It will be a good test of the improving state of a person 
of the above description, when he can patiently, though not 



220 THOUGHTS SUGGESTED TO 

at first pleasantly, persevere in the perusal of works which 
do not flatter his security ; nay. to persevere the more 
earnestly, because the perusal discovers his own character 
to himself. When once he is brought to endure these salu- 
tary probings, he will soon be brought to court the hand 
that probes. He will begin to disrelish the vapid civility 
with which the superficial examiner treats human nature. 
Nay, he may now safely meditate on the dignity of man, 
which, in his former state, so far misled him. He will find 
that, in another sense, the doctrine is true Man was in- 
deed originally a dignified creature, for he was made in the 
image of the perfect God. Even now, though his will is 
depraved, yet he has noble intellectual faculties which give 
some notion of what he was His heart is alienated, but 
his understanding approves the rectitude which his will re- 
jects He has still recoverable powers ; he is still capable, 
when divine truth shall have made its full impression on his 
soul of that renovation which shall restore him to the dig- 
nity he has lost, re-instate him in the favour he has forfeit- 
ed, and raise him infinitely higher than the elevation from 
which he ha? fallen. 

To those who attempt to relieve his temporary distress 
by directing^his eyes to his owti virtues, and to the appro- 
bation those virtues are certain to obtain from Heaven, he 
will reply with the illustrious sufferer of old, " Miserable 
comforters are ye all!" Slight remedies will no longer sa- 
tisfy him. The more deep his views become, the less he 
will be disposed to claim his share in the compliments la- 
vished on the natural human character. 

But oh ! what unspeakable consolation will the humble 
believer derive from the appellation by which the divine 
spirit is designated — The Comfortkr. There is some- 
thing sublimely merciful in a dispensation, of which the 
term is so delightfully expressive of the thing. We read 
in Scripture of grieving the Holy Spirit ; but, when we con* 
sider him under this most soothing character, is there not 



GOOD SORT OF PEOPLE. 

(thing of peculiar and heinous ingratitude in grieving 
the Comforter] 

To endeavour to obtain a more lively belief in the exis- 
tence, and earnestly to implore the aid of this quickening 
spirit would be a great means of improving the character. 
That the doctrine of spiritual influence is a practical doc- 
trine, is clearly deducible from the command, arising out of 
the conviction, that the truth was already received — " It 
ye lire in the spirit, walk in the spirit." Observe that we 
press you only on your own principles : we recommend you 
only to act upon the creed you avow. If we suggest to 
your adoption any thing further than the Bible enjoins, we 
are guilty of fanaticism, and you should be on your guard 
against it. We, venture not to say what name is due to 
those who would depress your views greatly below either. 

In perusing the Scriptures, might you not commune with 
your own heart in something like the following language: 
■ — u This book is not a work of fancy. I do not, therefore 
read it for amusement, but instruction ; but am I seriously 
proposing to read it like one who has a deep interest in its 
contents? Is it my sincere intention to convert the know- 
ledge I am about to acquire into any practical application 
to my own case ? Is it my earnest wish to improve the 
state of my own heart by comparing it with what I allow 
to be the only perfect rule of faith and practice I Do I only 
read to get over my morning's task, the omission of which 
would make me uneasy, merely to fasten a series of facts 
on my memory ? or do I really desire to make the great 
truths of the incarnation of the Son of God, of the gift 
of the Holy Spirit, the necessity of a living faith, a sound 
repentance, an entire conviction that, of myself, I can do 
nothing ; not merely a speculative system to be recognized 
at church, but to be transfused into the life? Do I adopt 
religion as an hereditary, national profession, necessary to 
my credit, or as a thing in which I have a momentous per- 
sonal interest ? Do I propose to apply what I read to the 



222 THOUGHTS SUGGESTFD TO 

' pulling down those high imaginations, and that fabe seen- 
rity of which my Bible shews me the danger, and which 
its doctrines are calculated to subdue? Do I labour after 
the attainment of those heavenly dispositions, the exhibi- 
tion of which I have been admiring? Have these vivid de« 
•Iarations of the imsatisfactorine^s of the world at all 
cooled my ardour for its enjoyments? Shall I read here 
this holy contenpt for the Lttleness of its pursuits, this dis- 
play of its fallacies and deceits, and yet return this very 
evening to the participation of diversions, the exposure of 
whose emptiness I have been approving ? Shall 1 extol 
the writer who strips off its painted mask from the world, 
and yet act as if the morning lecture had brought no such 
discovery ? Nay, perhaps, it may be one of my subjects 
of conversation to recommend a book, of whose little eifi- 
cacyinmy own case I am giving a practical example. 

Do I not periodically pray, k i Make me to be numbered 
with thy saints in glory everlasting,'' and yet am I not as 
shy of the society of those who are distinguished for more 
than common sanctity, as if it carried contamination with 
it? And does not the very term convey to my mind a disci ed- 
itable idea, compounded of fanaticism and hypocrisy? 

After all, I may have been wrong. If respectability 
were security, the young ruler in the Gospel had been in 
no danger, for his attainments were above the ordinary 
standard, and his credit was probably high. It is time to 
come to something like certainty ; to inquire, whether I do 
cordially believe what I should be ashamed not to profess ; 
whether my religion lives in my memory or my heart, on 
my lips or in my life, in my profession or my practice ? It 
is time to examine, whether I have much more distinct evi- 
dences of divine truth than those who do not acknowledge 
the Gospel to be a ^revelation from heaven: to inquire, 
why, if my understanding be somewhat more enlightened, 
5»uch illumination is not more perceptible on my heart ? 
c< Why the fruits of the Spirit," so far from u abounding 1 



GOOD SORT OF PEOPLE. Bgtf 

in me, scarcely appear, if those fruits are indeed " love, 
peace, and joy in believing ?" 

Let not the fear of labour, or the dread of pain, prevent 
you from endeavouring to obtain a clear view of your state* 
Let not a pusillanimous apprehension of reproach or ridi- 
cule prevent your following up your convictions. There 
is not any thing that is unreasonable, much less any thing 
that is impossible, required : no degree of zeal, or measure 
of earnestness, but what you see every day exerted in a 
worse cause. Take your measure from the world, not in 
what you shall pursue, but in the energy with which you 
shall urge the pursuit. Only devote to religion as much 
time as the worldly devote to dissipation , only set yom 
affections on Heaven as intensely as theirs are set upon 
earth, and all will be well : or take your measure from 
your former self ; take at least as much pains to secun. 
your eternal interests as you have formerly taken to ac 
quire a language or an art. Read the word of inspiratioi 
with the same assiduity with which you have studied a k 
vourite classic : strive with as much energy to acquire u 
thorough insight into the corruptions of your heart, and 
the remedy proposed for their cure, as you have exerted 
in studying the principles of your profession, or the mys- 
teries of your calling. Inspect your consciences as accu- 
rately as your expences ; be as frugal of your time as of 
your fortune, and as careful of your soul as of your credit, 
Be neither terrified by terms, nor governed by them. 

In reading those heart- searching writers, whose princi- 
les are drawn from the source of all truth, and who are 
only to be trusted as they are analogous to it, be not of- 
fended with some strong expressions. They expressed 
forcibly what they felt powerfully. The revolting term 
of sinner, which has, perhaps, made you throw aside the 
book, as thinking it addressed only to the perpetrators of 
great crimes, as fitter language for the prisons and. the 
hulks, than for the polished and the pleasing, ii addressed 



224 THOUGHTS SUGGESTED TO 

to every one, however profound his knowledge, however 
decent his life, however amiable his manners, who lives 
without habitual reference to God. Be more than honest, 
be courageous; boldly apply it to yourself. Though 
your character is unstained with any disgraceful vice, 
though you regularly fulfil many relative duties, yet if you 
are destitute of the prime duty, the love of God in Christ 
Jesus, you stand in need of such a forcible address as we 
have been supposing. The discovery will be no dishon- 
our. The dishonour consists in not feeling your state, in 
not struggling against it ; in not applying with humble 
fervour for assistance to the Fountain of grace and mercy. 
Take comfort that you have great advantages over 
many others. You have few bad habits to retract ; you 
have no scandalous vices to combat ; you have already 
with certain persons acquired a degree of influence by 
four good qualities; with others, you have acquired it by 
'our very defects, and, as you are not suspected of en- 
husiasm, your usefulness will not be impeded by having 
hat suspicion to repel. You will continue to do, in many 
respects, the some things which you did before. The ex- 
terior of your life may be in many points nearly the -same. 
But, even the same actions will be done in another spirit 
and to another end. Religion will not convert you into 
misanthropes, insensible to all the dear affections which 
make life pleasant. It does not wish to send you with the 
hermits of old to the deserts of Thebais, it only wishes 
you to adorn the doctrine of God our Saviour in your own 
families, and among your own connections. Not one of 
the proper forms and harmless habits of polished society 
will be impaired, they will be rather improved by this 
mutation of the mind. Christian humility will be aiding 
all the best purposes of good breeding, while it will fur- 
nish a higher principle for its exercise. You may express 
this change in your character by what name you please, 
eo that the change be but effected. It is not what you 



GOOD SORT OF PEOPLE. 225 

are called, but what you are, which will make the specific 
distinction between the character you adopt, and that 
which you have quitted. You read the Bible now, but 
between reading it mechanically and spiritually, there is 
as much difference, as between pouring a fluid on the 
ground and distilling it The one " cannot be gathered 
up' 3 afterwards ; from the other,. we extract drop by drop, 
a precious and powerful essence. 

Search, then, diligently, the word of eternal life, en- 
riched and ennobled as it is with the chain and the accom. 
piishment of its prophecies, with the splendour of its mira- 
cles ; with the attestation of its martyrs, the consistency of 
its doctrines ; the importance of its facts ; the plenitude of 
its precepts; the treasury of its promises; the irradia- 
tions of the spirit ; the abundance of its consolations ; the 
peace it bestows ; the blessedness it announces ; the pro- 
portion of its parts ; the symmetiy of the whole \ — alto- 
gether presenting such a fund of instruction to the mind, 
of light to the path, of document to the conduct, of satis- 
faction to the heart, as demonstrably prove it to be the in- 
strument of God for the salvation of man, 



( 226 ) 
CHAP. XIX. 

ON HABITS. 

Habits are those powers of the mind which arise from a 
collection or rather a successive course of ordinary actions. 
As they are formed by a concatenation of those actions, 
so they may be weakened by frequent and allowed inter- 
ruptions j and if many contiguous links are wilfully bro- 
ken, the habits themselves are in danger of being totally 
demolished. 

If we may be allowed to change the metaphor, we 
would observe that good habits produce a sound healthy 
constitution of mind : they are tonics which gradually, 
but infallibly, invigorate the intellectual man. A silent 
course of habits is a part of our character or rather con- 
duct, which in a great measure depends on industry and 
application ; on self-denial and watchfulness^ on diligence 
in establishing right pursuits, and vigilance in checking 
such as are pernicious. Habit being an engine put into 
our hands for the noblest and most beneficial purposes ; 
and being one, which, having the free command of our 
own faculties, we have a power to use and direct— a pow- 
er, indeed, derived from God as all our other possessions 
are — yet having this power, it rests with ourselves whether 
we shall improve it by a vigorous exertion in a right bent, 
or whether we shall turn it against our Maker, and direct 
the course of our conduct to the offending, instead of 
pleasing God. w 

Habits are not so frequently formed by vehement inci- 
dental efforts on a few great occasions, as by a calm and 
steady perseverance in the ordinary course of duty. If this 
were uniformly followed up, we should be spared that oc- 
casional violence to our feelings, that agitating resistance, 
which, by wasting the spirits, leads more feeble minds t 






ON HABITS. £27 

dread the recurrence of the same necessity which induces a 
painful feeling, the consequence of negligence, even where 
there is real rectitude of heart ; while the regular adoption , 
of right habits, indented by repetition, establishes such a 
tranquillity of spirit, as contributes to promote happiness 
no less than virtue. The mind, like the body, gains ro- 
bustness and activity by the habitual exercise of its powers* 
Occasional right actions may be caprice, may be vanity, 
may be impulse, but hardly deserve the name of virtue, 
till they proceed from a principle which habit has moulded 
hito-a frame ; then the right principle which first set them 
at work continues to keep them at it, and finally becomes 
so prevalent, that there is a kind of spontaneity in the act, 
which keeps up the energy, without constant sensible re- 
ference to the spring which first set it in motion. Good 
habits are good dispositions ripened by repetition into vir- 
tue, and sanctified by prayer into holiness. If we allow 
that vicious habits persisted in, lay us more and more open 
to the dominion of our spiritual adversary, can we doubt 
that virtuous habits acquire proportional strength from the 
superinduced aid of the spirit of God? 

The more uniform is our conformity to the rules of vir- 
tue and purity, the less we may require to be reminded of 
the particular influence of the motive. We need not, nor 
indeed can we, recur every moment to the exact source of 
the action ; its flowing from an habitual sense of duty will 
generally explain the ground on which it is performed. If 
the heart is kept awake and alive in a cheerful obedience 
to God, the immediate motive of the immediate act is not 
likely to be a bad one. Many actions, indeed, require to 
be deliberated on, and whatever requires deliberation be- 
fore we do it, demands scrutiny why we do it. This will 
lead to such an inquest into our motive as, if there be any 
want of sincerity in it, will tend to its detection. 

Notwithstanding what has been urged above as to the 
exercise of constant assiduity in preference to mete occth 



,228 ON HABITS. 

sional exertion, we would be understood to offer this coun- 
sel rather to the proficient than to the novice- As the be- 
( Winnings are always difficult, especially to ardent spirits, 
such spirits would do well, particularly at their entrance 
on a more correct course, to select for themselves some sin- 
gle task of painful exertion, which, by bringing their men- 
tal vigour into full ^)lay, shall afford them so sensible an 
evidence of the conquest they have obtained, as will more 
than repay the labour of the conflict. A friend of the Au- 
thor was so fully aware of the importance of thus taming 
an impatient temper, tuat she imposed upon herself the 
habit of beginning even any ordinary undertaking with 
the most difficult part of it, instead of following the usual 
method of proceeding from the lower to the higher. If a 
language was to be learnt, she began with a very difficult 
author. If a scheme of economy was to be improved, she 
relinquished at once some prominent indulgence ; if a vani< 
ty was to be cut off, she fixed on some strong act of self- 
denial which should appear a little disreputable to others, 
while it somewhat mortified herself. These incipient trials 
once got over, she had a large reward in finding all lesser 
ones in the same class comparatively light. The main 
victory was gained in the onset, the subsequent skirmishes 
cost little. 

If it be said that the effort is too violent, the change too 
sudden, we apprehend the assertion is a mistake. When 
we have worked up ourselves, or rather are worked up by 
a superior agency to a strong measure, it becomes a point 
of honour, as well as of duty, to persist ; we are ashamed of 
stopping short, and especially of retreating, though we 
have no witness but God and our own hearts. Having 
once persevered, the victory is the reward. A slower 
change, though desirable, has less stimulus,, less animation, 
is less sensibly marked ; we cannot recur, as in the other 
case, to the hour of conquest, nor have we so clear a ©on- 
sciousness of having obtained it* 



Oft HABITS. 223 

But the conquests we have won we must maintain. The 
fruits of the initiatory victory ma}/ be lost, if vigilance does 
not guard, that which valour subdued. If the relinquish- 
ment of evil habits is so difficult, it is not less necessary to 
be watchful, lest we should insensibly slide into the negli- 
gence of such as are good. What we neglect, we gradual- 
ly forget. This guard against declension is the more re- 
quisite, as the human mind is so limited, that one object 
quickly expels another. A new idea takes possession as 
soon as its predecessor is driven out ; and the very traces 
of former habits are effaced, not suddenly, but progressive- 
ly ; no two successive ideas being, perhaps, very dissimilar* 
while the last in the train will be of a character quite dif- 
ferent, not from that which immediately preceded, but from 
that which first began to draw us off from the right habit - 
the impression continues to grow fainter, till that which at 
first was weakened, is at length obliterated. 

If we do not establish the habit of the great statesman of 
Holland, to do only one thing at a time, we shall do no- 
thing well ; the whole of our understanding, however high- 
ly we may rate it, is not too much to give to any subject 
which is of sufficient importance to require investigation at 
all 5 certainly is not great enough to afford being split into 
as many parts, as we may chuse to take subjects simultane- 
ously in hand. If we allow the different topics which re- 
quire deliberation to break in on each other , if a second is ad- 
mitted to a conference, before we have dismissed the first, 
as neither will be distinctly considered, so neither is likely 
to obtain a just decision. These desultory pursuits obstruct 
the establishment of correct habits. 

But it requires the firm union of a sound principle with 
aniaipartial judgment to ascertain that the habit is really 
good, or the mischief will be great 'in proportion to the 
pertinacity. For who can conceive a more miserable state., 
than for a man to be goaded on by a ions; perseverance m 
habits, which both his conscience and his under-laridiiig 



S3*> ON HABITS. 

condemn ? Even if upon conviction he renounces them, he 
bas a long time to spend in backing, with the mortification 
at last, to find himself only where he ought to have been 
at setting out. 

Without insisting on the difficulty of totally subduing 
long-indulged habits o[ any gross . vice, such as intempe* 
ranee ; we may remark, that it requires a long and pain« 
ful process — and this even after a man is convinced of its 
turpitude, after he discovers evident marks of improvement 
— to conquer the habits of any fault, which, though not 
so scandalous in the eyes of the world, may be equally in- 
consistent With real piety. — Take the love of money for 
instance. How reluctantly, if at all, is covetousness extir- 
pated from the heart where it has long been rooted ! The 
imperfect convert has a conviction on his mind, nay he 
has a feeling in his heart, that there is no such thing as be- 
ing a Christian without liberality. This he adopts, in 
common with other just sentiments, and speaks of it as a 
nesessary evidence of sincerity. He has gotten the whole 
Christian theory by heart, and such parts of it as do not 
trench upon this long -indulged corruption, he more or 
less brings into action. But in this tender point, though, 
the profession is cheap, the practice is costly. An occasion 
1$ brought home to him, of exercising the grace he has 
been commending. He acknowledges its force, he does 
more,, he feels it. If taken at the moment, something 
considerable might be done ; but if any delay intervene, 
that delay is fatal ; for from feeling, he begins to calculate. 
Now there is a cooling property in calculation, which 
freezes the warm current that sensibility had set in motion. 
The old habit is too powerful for the young convert, yet 
he flatters himself that he has at once exercised charity and 
discretion. He takes comfort both from the liberal feeling 
which had resolved to give the money, and the pru- 
dence which had saved it, laying to his heart the flattering 
imctitB, that he has only spared it for some more pressing 



ON HABITS. 230 

^mand, which, when it occurs, will again set hini on fee- 
line:, and calculating, and saving. 

Some well-meaning persons unintentionally confirm this 
kind of error They are so zealous on the subject of sud- 
den conversion, that they are too ready to pronounce, 
from certain warm expressions, that this change has taken 
place in their acquaintance, while evident symptoms of an 
unchanged nature continue to disfigure the character. 
They do not always wait till an alteration in the habits 
has giVen that best evidence of an interior alteration. 
They dwell so exclusively on miraculous changes, that they 
leave little to do for the convert, but to consider himself 
as an inactive recipient of grace : not as one who is to ex- 
hibit, by the change in his life, that mutation, which the 
divine spirit has produced on his heart. This too common 
error appears to arise, not only from enthusiasm, but partly 
from want of insight into the human character, of which 
habits are the ground-work, and in which right habits are 
not less the effect of grace for being gradually produced. 
We cannot, indeed, purify ourselves, any more than we can 
convert ourselves, it being equally the work of the Holy 
Spirit to infuse purity, as well as the other graces, into 
the heart; but it rests with us to exercise this grace, to re- 
duce this purity to a habit, else the Scriptures would net 
have been so abundant in injunctions to this duty. 

" We must hate sin," says Bishop Jeremy Taylor, tl is 
all its dimensions, in all its distances, and in every angle oi 
its reception." St. Paul felt this scrupulousness of Christian 
delicacy to such an extent, that, in intimating the commis- 
sion of certain enormities to the church of Ephesus, he 
charged that they should not be so much as named among 
them. This great master in the science of human nature, 
a knowledge perfected by grace, was aware that the very 
mention of some sins might be a temptation to commit 
them ; he would not have the mind intimate with thtf 
thought, nor the imagination in contact with the expres- 






**5 ON HABITS. 

sion, nor the tongue familiar with the sound. He who 
knew all the minuter entrances, as well as the broader ave- 
nues to the corrupt heart of man, knew how much safer it 
is to avoid than to combat, how much easier is retreat tkan 
victory. He was aware, that purity of heart and thought, 
could alone produce purity of life and conduct. 

From the unhappy want of this early habit of restraint, 
many, who are become sincerely pious, find it very difficult 
to extricate their minds from certain associations establish- 
ed by former habits. Corrupt books and. evil communica- 
tions have at once left a sense of abhorrence on their hearts, 
with an indelible impression on their memory. They find 
it almost impossible to get rid of sallies of imagination, 
which, though they once admired as wit, they now consider 
as little less than blasphemy. The will rejects them ; but 
they cling: to the recollection with fatal pertinacity. Vi- 
ces, not only of the conduct, but of the imagination, long 
indulged, leave a train of almost inextinguishable corrup- 
tions behind them. These are evils, of which even the re- 
formed heart does not easily get clear. He who repents 
suddenly, will too often be purified slowly. A corrupt 
practice may be abolished, but a soiled imagination is not 
easily c]eanj«4. 

We repeat, that, these rooted habits, even after the act. 
has been long hated and discontinued, may persist in tor- 
menting him who has long repented of the sin, so as to 
keep him to the last in a painful and distressing doubt as to 
Ids real state ; but if this doubt continue to make him 
Bftore vigilant, and to keep alive his humility, the uneasi- 
ness it causes may be more salutary than a greater cenil- 
denee of his own condition- Many have complained, 
after years of sincere reformation, ihat they did not pos 
scss that peace and consolation which religion promises ; 
not suspecting, that their long adherence to wrong habits 
may naturally darken their views and cloud their enjoy- 
ments. Surely the man whose mind has abandoned KseTF 



ON HABITS. £33 

for years to improper indulgences has little right to com- 
plain, if bitterness accompany his repentance, if dejection 
break in on his peace. Surely he has little right to mur- 
mur, if those consolations are refused to him, which, in 
the inscrutable wisdom of Providence, are sometimes with- 
held from good men, who have never been guilty of his 
irregularities in conduct, who have never indulged his 
disorders of heart and mind. When we see holy men, to 
whom this cheerful confidence is sometimes denied, or 
from whom, in the agonies of dissolving nature, it is with- 
drawn, shall they whose case we have been considering, 
complain, if theirs are not all halcyon days, if their clos- 
ing hour is rather contrite than triumphant ? But this, if 
it be not a state of joy, may be equally a state of safety. 

The duty of keeping up this sense of purity is of great 
extent. One of the many uses of prayer is, that, by the 
habit of breathing oat our inmost thoughts to God, the 
stnse of his being, the consciousness of his presence, the 
Idea that his pure eye is immediately upon us, imparts a 
temporary purity to the soul, which it vainly aims to 
maintain in an equal degree in its intercourse with man- 
kind. The beatitude of the promised vision of God is 
more immediately annexed to this grace : and it is else- 
where said, " that every one who hath this hope, purifietn 
himself, as He is pure." The holy felicity of the creature 
i< thus made to depend on its assimilation with the Creator. 
There is a beautiful intimation of the purity of God in 
the ordjer of construction in the prayer taught by our Sa- 
viour. We pray that his name may be hallowed, that is, 
that our hearts, and the hearts of all men. may honour his 
holy name ; may be deeply impressed with a sense of his 
purity and holiness, before we proceed to the subsequent 
petitions. We thus invest our minds with this preparatory 
f entiment, in order to sanctify what we are about to im- 
plore. In addition to the necessity of stated prayer for 
"he promotion of purity, it may be observed, that if, by 
u 3 



2j^ ON XI.1EIIS. 

l.abitual devotion, we bend our thoughts into that course* 
they will in time^almost voluntarily pursue it. The good 
effect of prayer will, on our return to society, be much in- 
creased by the practice of occasionally darting up to Hea- 
ven, a short ejaculation, a laudatory sentence, or some 
brief spontaneous effusion. This will assist to stir up the 
ilame which was kindled by the morning sacrifice, and 
preserve it from total extinction before that of the even- 
ing is offered up. We may learn from the profane prac- 
tice of some, that an ejaculation takes as little time, and 
obtrudes less on notice, than an oath or an exclamation. 
It implores, in as few words,' the same divine power for 
a blessing, whom the other obtest? for destruction. 

One great benefit of science is allowed to be derived 
from its habituating the mind to shake off its depend ance 
upon sense. Devout meditation, in like manner, accus- 
toms it not 4o fly for support to sensible and material things, 
but to rest in such as are intellectual and spiritual. By a 
general neglect of serious thinking, virtue is sometime* 
withered and decayed ; in minds where it is not torn up by 
the roots, there remains in them that vital sap which may 
still, upon habitual cultivation, not only vegetate, bin 
duce fruit. 

One great obstacle to habitual meditation must not be 
passed over. It is the pernicious custom of submitting to 
the uncontrolled -dominion of a roving imagination. This 
prolific faculty produces such a constant budding of images, 
fancies, visions, conjectures, and conceits, that she can 
subsist plentifully on her own independent stock. She is 
perpetually wandering from the point to which she pro- 
mised to confine herself when she set out ; is ever roaming 
from the spot to which her powerless possessor had threat- 
ened to pin her down. We retire with a resolution to re- 
flect : Reason has no sooner marshalled her forces, than 
this undisciplined J run-away escapes from duty, one 
straggler Rafter another ;Joins the enemy, or brings heme 



ON HABITS. 2 35 

some foreign impertinence. While we meant, f o indulge 
only a harmless reflection, we are brough thunder sutj-jw Men 
to a whole series of reveries of different characters and 
opposite descriptions. Fresh trains obliterate car first 
speculations, till the spirit sinks into a sort of deliqmura. 
We have nothing for it, but resolutely to resist the enfee- 
bling despot. Let us stiyip some counteracting force : let 
us fly to some active employment winch shall break the 
charm, and dissolve the pleasant thraldrom. No matter 
what, so it be innocent and opposite. We shall not cure 
ourselves by the sturdiest resolution not to do this thing 
which is complained of, unless we compel ourselves to do 
something else. Courageous exertion is the only conquer- 
or of irresolution : vigorous astion the only supplanter of 
idle speculation. 

Habits are not arbitrary systems and predetermined 
schemes. They are not always laid dpwn deliberately as 
plans to be pursued, but steal upon us insensibly ; insinuate 
themselves into a train of successive repetitions, till we find 
ourselves in bondage to them, before we are aware they 
have gotten any fast hold over us. But if rooted bad 
habits are of such difficult extirpation, that, as we have al- 
ready observed, they not only destroy the peace of him who 
continues them, but embitter the very penitence of him who 
has forsaken them, there is a class of beings in whom they 
are not yet inveterate. If I could speak with the tongues 
of men and of angels, never could they be employed to a 
more important purpose, than in representing to my youth* 
fill readers the blessedness of avoiding such habits now, as 
may take a whole life to unlearn. 

O you to whom opening life is fresh, and gay, and tempt- 
ing! you who have yet your path to choose, whose hearts 
are ingenuous, and whose manners amiable, in whom, if 
wrong propensities discover themselves, yet evil habits are 
not substantially formed — could you be made sensible, at a 
less costly pHce than your own experience, that though, 



236 ON HABITS. 



I ,; 



through the mercy of God, the long-erring heart may here- 
after be brought to abhor its own sin, yet the once initia- 
ted mind can never be made to unknow its knowledge, nor 
to unthink its thoughts ; can never be brought to separate 
those combinations which it once too fondly cherished : — 
how much future regret, how much incurable sorrow might 
you spare yourselves ! If you would but reflect that though, 
in respect of the past, you may become inwardly penitent, 
you cannot become as you now are, outwardly innocent, 
and that no repentance can restore your present happy ig- 
norance of practised evil,- — you would then keep clear of a 
bondage from which you perceive the older and the wiser 
do not, because they cannot, commonly emancipate them- 
selves. 

But, supposing a young man is so happy as to escape 
the grosser corruptions, yet, if he have a turn to wit and 
ridicule, he should be singularly on his guard against the 
false credit which ludicrous associations will obtain for him 
in certain societies. An indelicate but pointed jest, a combi- 
nation of some light thought with some scriptural expression^, 
a parody which makes a serious thing ridiculous, or a sober 
one absurd, — these are instruments by no means harmless, 
p.ot only to him who handles them, but also in the hands 
of subalterns and copyists, who, having, perhaps, no faculty 
but memory, and seldom using memory but for mischief, 
retain with joy, and circulate from vanity, what was at 
first uttered with mere random thoughtlessness. Profane 
dunces are the busy echoes of the loose wit of others. With 
little talent for original mischief, but devoting that little 
to the worst purposes, they pick up a kind of literary live- 
lihood on the stray sarcasms and fugitive bon mots of oth- 
ers, and are maintained on what the witty throw away. 
If even in the first instance there were nothing wrong in 
the thing itself, there is mischief in the connection. What- 
ever serves to append a light thought to a serious one, is 
unsafe ; both have, by frequent citation, been so accustoinr 



ON HABITS. £3? 

ed to appear together, that when, in a better frame of mind, 
the good one is called up, the corrupt associate never fails 
to present itself unbidden, and, like Pharaoh's blasted corn ? 
devours the wholesome ear. 

ft Man," says one of the most sagacious observers of man, 
Dr. Paley, " is a bundle of habits." The more we attend 
to them, the more distinctly we shall perceive those which 
are right, and the more dexterity we shall acquire in es- 
tablishing them. In setting out in our moral course, we 
can make little progress, unless we suffer ourselves to be 
governed by certain rules ; but when the rules are once 
worked into habits, they in a manner govern us. We lose 
the sense of that restraining power which was at first un- 
pleasant though self-imposed. To illustrate this by an in- 
stance : — The accomplished orator i« not fettered&y recur- 
ring to the laws of the grammarian, nor the canons of the 
dialectician, though it was by being habitually trained in 
their respective schools, that he acquired both his accuracy 
and argument. Yet, while he is speaking, it never occurs 
to him, that there are such things in the world as grammar 
or logic. The rules are become habits, they have answer- 
ed their end, and are dismissed. 

If we consider the force of habit on amusements : — sta- 
ted diversions enslave us more by the custom of making us 
''feel the want of them, than by any positive pleasure they 
afford. By being incessantly pursued, they diminish m 
their power of delighting ; yet such is the plastic power of 
habit, and such the yielding substance of our minds, that 
they become arbitrary wants, absolute articles, not of lux- 
ury, but necessity. Strange ! that what is enjoyed without 
pleasure cannot be discontinued without pain ! The very 
hour when, the place where, the sight of those with whom 
they have been partaken, present associations which we 
feel a kind of difficulty and uneasiness in separating. We 
are partly cheated into this imaginary necessity, by seeing 
t^e eagerness with which others pursue them. Yet if h 



23 S ON HABITS. 

were not an artificial necessity, a want not arising from the 
constitution of our nature, those would be unhappy who 
are deprived of them, or rather, who never enjoyed them. 
There is a respectable society of Christians among us who 
carry the restriction of diversions to the widest extent. 
Yet among the number of amiable, virtuous, and well-in- 
structed young Quakers, whom I have known, 1 have al- 
ways found them as cheerful and as happy as other peo- 
ple. Their cheerfulness was perhaps more intellectual than 
mirthful ; but their, happiness never appeared to be imped- 
ed by complaints at the privation of pleasures to which 
habit had not enslaved them — a habit which, when carried 
too far, destroys the very end of pleasure, that of invigora- 
ting the mind by relaxing it. 

It is a proof that the Apostle considered conversion in 
general a gradual transformation, when he spoke of the 
renewing of the inward ma» day by day ; this seems to in- 
timate that good habits, under the influence of the Spirit 
of God, are continually advancing the growth of the Chris- 
tian, and conducting him to that maturity which is his con- 
summation and reward. The grace of repentance, like 
every other, must be established by habit. Repentance 
is not completed by a single act, it must be incorporated 
into our mind, till it become a fixed state, arising from a 
continual sense cf our need of it. Forgive us our trespas- 
ses would never have been enjoined as a daily petition, if 
daily repentance had not been necessary for daily sins. 
The grand work of repentance, indeed, accompanies the 
change of heart ; but that which is purified will not, in 
this state of imperfection, necessarily remain pure. While 
we are liable to sin, we must be habitually penitent. 

A man may give evidence of his possessing many amiable 
qualities, without our being able to say, therefore, he is a 
good man. His virtues may be constitutional, their mo- 
tives may be worldly. But when he exhibits clear and 
convincing evidence, that he has subdued all his inveterate 
bad habits, weeded ont rooted evil propensities; when the 



ON HABITS. %ft 

tfiiser is grown largely liberal, the passionate become meek,, 
the calumniator charitable, the malignant kind; when 
every bad habit is not only eradicated, but succeeded by 
its opposite quality, we would conclude that such a change 
could only be effected by power from on high — we would 
not scruple to call that man religious. But, above all, 
there must be a change wrought in the secret course of our 
thoughts ; without this interior improvement the abandon- 
ment of any wrong practice is no proof of an effectual al- 
teration. This, indeed, we cannot make a rule by which 
to judge others, but it is an infallible one by which to judge 
ourselves. Certain faults are the effect of certain tempta- 
tions, rather than of that common depravity natural to all. 
But a general rectification of thought, a sensible revolu- 
tion in the secret desires and imaginations of the heart, is 
perhaps the least equivocal of all the changes effected in us. 
This is not merely the cure of a particular disease, but the- 
infusion of a sound principle of life and health, the general 
feeling of a renovated nature, the evidence of a new state 
of constitution. 

Candid Christians, however, who kntfw experimentally 
the power of habit, who are aware of the remainders of 
evil in the best men, will not rashly pronounce that he, 
who, while he is struggling with some long-cherished cor- 
ruption, falls into an occasional aberration from the path 
he is endeavouring to follow, is therefore not jeligious. 

If our bad habits have arisen from dangerous associations, 
we must dissolve the intercourse, if we would obviate the 
danger. Good impressions may have been made on the 
heart, yet the indulged thought, and especially the allow- 
ed sight of that object which once melted down our better 
resolutions, may melt them again. If we would conquer an 
invading enemy, we must not only fight him in the field, 
but cut off his provisions. It may be difficult, but nothing 
should repel the effort but what is impossible. Now in 
this there is no impossibility, because the thing not being 
placed out of pur reach, there needs only the concurrence 



240 ON HABITS* 

of the will. If we hurnour this wayward will, it is at our 
peril. What we persist in indulging, we shall every day 
find more difficult to restrain. Perhaps on our not resist- 
ing the very next temptation, will depend the future colour 
of our life — the very possibility of future resistance. That 
which is now in our power, may, by repeated rejection, be- 
judicially placed beyond it. Infirmity of purpose produces 
perpetual relapses. Temptation strengthens as resistance 
weakens. We create, by criminal indulgences, an imbe- 
cility in the will, and then* plead the weakness, not which 
we found, but made. Half measures produce more pain 
and no success. They are compounded of desire and re- 
gret, of appetite and fear, of indulgence and remorse. 
While we are balancing, conditioning, temporizing, nego- 
tiating with conscience, we might be singing Te Deum for 
the victory. 

What force we take from the will by every repetition,, 
we give to the habit. A faint endeavour ends in a sure de- 
feat. Temptation becoming more importunate, if its in- 
cursions are not resisted, if its attacks are not repelled, the 
habit will get final possession of the mind ; encouragement 
will invite repetition ; where it has been once entertained^ 
it will find a ready way ; where it has been received with 
familiarity, expulsion will soon become difficult, and after- 
wards impossible. The Holy Spirit, whose aid perhaps we 
have faintly invoked, and firmly rejected, is withdrawn. 
Butif we are sincere in the invocation, we shall be firm in 
the resistance ; if we are fervent in the resolution, we shall 
be triumphant in the conflict. 

What we have insisted on is the more important, hecause 
all progressive goodness consists in habits \ and virtuous 
habits, begun and carried on here with increasing im- 
provement and multiplied energies, are susceptible of eter- 
nal proficiency. When we are assured that the effect of 
habits will not cease with life, but be carried into eternity, 
it gives such an enlargement to the ideas, such an expan- 
sion to the so'iL that it seem? as if every hour were lost in 



ON HABITS, g%Sr 

vvliich we are not beginning or improving some virtuous 
habit. 

A3 we were originally made in the image of God, so shali 
we, by the renovation of our minds, of which our improved 
habits is the best test, be restored, in an enlargement of 
our moral powers, to a nearer resemblance of Him. Were 
it not that there is a participation, in all rational minds, 
of the same qualities in kind, though infinitely different in 
degree, the perfections of God would not so repeatedly be 
held out in Scripture as objects of our imitation. It would 
have been absurd to have said, " as he that hath called you 
is holy, so be ye holy." — " Be ye holy, for I am holy,'-* 
would not have been a reasonable command, unless holi- 
ness and purity had been one common moral quality of the 
nature, though unspeakably distant in the proportion be- 
tween that perfect Being from whom whatever is good is 
derived, and the imperfect creature who derives it. Sure- 
ly it is not too much to say, that though we can only at- 
tain that low measure, of which our weak and sinful nature 
is capable, yet still to aim at imitating those perfections, is 
a desire natural to the renewed heart : and it may be con- 
sidered as a symptom that no such renovation has taken 
place, when no such desire is felt. 

How could we attempt to trace the perfections of the 
divine nature, if he had not stamped on our mind some idea 
of those perfections ? We may bring these notions practi- 
cally home to our own bosoms, possessing, as we do, not 
only natural ideas of the divine rectitude, but having' these 
notions highly rectified, and confirmed by the Scripture re- 
presentation of God ; if, instead of adopting abstract rea- 
son for a rule of judging, which is often too unsubstantial 
for our grasp, we set ourselves to consider what such a 
perfect Being is likely to approve, or condemn, in human 
conduct, and then, comparing not only our deductions, 
but our practice, with the Gospel, adopt or reject what 
£hat approves or condemns. 
x 



( 242 > 



CHAP. XX. 






ON THE INCONSISTENCY OF CHRISTIANS WITH CHRIS- 
TIANITY. 

We have, in three former chapters*, ventured to address a 
class of Christians whose lives are decorous, and whose 
manners are amiable ; but who, from the want of having 
imbibed the vital spirit of Christianity, and having, there- 
fore, formed their principles on imperfect models, seem to 
have fallen short of that excellence of which their charac- 
ters are susceptible. 

We presume now to address a very different class ; per- 
sons acknowledging, indeed, the great truths of Christi- 
anity, but living either in the neglect of the principles they 
profess, or in practical opposition to the theory they main- 
tain j yielding to the tyranny of passion or of pleasure, go- 
verned by the appetite or the caprice of the moment, and 
going on in a careless inattention to the duties inculcated 
by an authority they recognize. The lives of the person* 
previously considered are commonly better than their pro- 
fession, the lives of those now under contemplation are 
worse. These seem to have more faults, the other more 
prejudices. The others are satisfied to be stationary ; these 
are not aware that they are retrograde. The former are 
in a far better state ; but there is hope that the latter may 
£nd out that they are in a bad one. The one rest in their 
performances, with little doubt of their safety ; the other, 
with a blind security, rest in the promises, without putting 
themselves in the way to profit by them. 

If the whole indivisible scheme of Christianity could be 
split into two portions, and either haif were left to the op- 
tion of these classes ; those formerly noticed would adopt 
ike commandments from an assurance of being saved by 
Inquiry why sorae Good ^n of Feopleave not better. 



INCONSISTENCY OF CHRISTIANS Z%Z 

their obeying them; these under present consideration, 
would choose the creed, from a notion that its mere 
adoption would go near to exonerate them from personal 
obedience. The others intend to earn heaven by their de- 
fective works : these, overlooking the necessity of holiness, 
flatter themselves, when they think at all, with the cheap 
salvation of a mental assent. We all desire to be finally 
saved. There is but one opinion about the end ; we only 
differ about the means. Many fly to the merits of the Re- 
deemer to obtain happiness for themselves hereafter, who 
do not desire his spirit to govern their lives now, though he 
has so repeatedly declared, that he will not save us with- 
out renovating us. To suppose that we shall possess here- 
after what we do not desire here, that we shall complete 
then, what we do not think of beginning now, is among 
the inconsistencies Of many who pass muster under the 
generic title of Christians. 

The contest between heaven and earth seems to be redu- 
ced to one point, which shall possess the heart of man, 
The bent of our afFections decides on the object of our pur- 
suit. When they are rightly turned by his powerful hand, 
God has the predominance. It is the grand design of his 
word, of his spirit, of all his dispensations, whether pro- 
vidential or spiritsal, to restore us to himself, to recover 
the heart which sin has estranged from him. Where these 
instruments fail, the original bias governs, and the world 
has the entire possession. 

Prospective prudence is esteemed a m^rk of wisdom by 
the world, and he who possessed the wisdom which is from 
above, observes, that " the prudent man foreseeth." Here 
the Bible and the world appear at first sight to be in strict 
accordance ; but they differ materially, both as to the dis- 
tance and the object of their forecast. How prudent do 
we reckon that man who denies himself present expences, 
&nd waves present enjoyments, that he may more effectu- 
ally secure to himself future fortune ! We observe that his 



244 INCONSISTENCY OF CHRISTIANS 

discreet self-denial will be amply rewarded by the incrsa* 
sing means of after-indulgence. But if this very man were 
to extend his views still further, and look for the remune- 
ration of his abstinence, not to a future day, but to a fu- 
ture life, he would not with his worldly friends, advance 
his character for wisdom. While he looks to a distant 
point of time he is commended, but he forfeits the commen- 
dation, if he overlooks all time, and defers the fruition of 
his hope, till time shall be no more. 

It is indeed this partial looking forward, this fixing the 
eye on some point of aggrandizement, or wealth, or some 
other distinction, which obstructs our view of the final 
prospect ; or it is the excess of immediate gratification, the 
delights of sense, the blandishments of the world which 
prevent us even from thinking of it. While the sen- 
sualist incloses himself in a narrow circle, beyond which his 
eye does not penetrate, the Christian, like the mariner e 
steers his course not by his sight but his compass. In any 
imminent distress, indeed, men almost naturally fly to 
their Maker. It is rather an impulse than a principle. 
Yet it is in prosperity, that we most need his assistance. 
Success, which is perhaps more eminently the hour of pe- 
ril, is more rarely the hour of prayer. There is an intox- 
ication attending on prosperous fortune, especially while 
it is new, which diverts the spirits from communication 
with the Father of spirits The slackening of devotion 
under success seems to imply *a conviction that, prosperity 
being a gift of God, our prayers have been heard ; we 
have obtained his blessing, and, having the end of our 
prayers granted, we insensibly lessen our endeavours to 
please Him whom our success induces us to believe that we 
have already pleased. Thus, having made things even, 
men seem to set out on a new career • they plan new in- 
dulgences additional proj *ots of splendor, or of gratifica- 
tion; they assiduously mi dtiply those pleasant instances of 
ohfidience which the poet has flatteringly told us we give 



WITH CHRISTIANITY, 2±5 

nhen we u enjoy." But the object of enjoyment is not 
seldom the instrument of destruction. Anacreon was 
choked by a grape-stone. , 

But, if prayer to the Fountain of all Good is occasion- 
ally offered up by the negligent Christian, it is not likely 
io be heard, because it is not his own prayer. We do not 
mean, because it is the composition of another; that, as it 
does not lessen its value, does not obstruct its acceptance. 
If the feelings go along with the petitions, they will be 
heard ; if the affections are bound up with the words, they 
will be accepted. It is not because they are forms, but 
because the little interest taken in theru, renders them mere 
forms. It is not because they arc pre-composed, but be- 
cause they are used with constraint— are repetitions, not 
effiisions. It is using them without that condition of 
mind, without that cordial voluntary approach to the di- 
vine presence, to which is annexed the gracious promise 
of being in no- wise cast out; of that state of mind which 
David suggested when he said, " My heart (not my lips) 
hath talked of Thee:" when, in answer to the command, 
li Seek ye my face," warm and instant from the heart he 
fervently replied, u Thy face, Lord, will I seek." 

If it be objected, that we can no more pray up to scriptural 
expressions than we can live up to scriptural injunctions, does 
not the one, equally with the other, indicate the high aspi- 
ring nature of religion? Does it not remind us, that our aims 
must be always more lofty than the possibility of our attain- 
ments ; that if the one be hitherto low and earthly, the 
other must be high and heavenly ; bounded by no limits, 
restrained by no measures, but improving with our moral 
Improvement, strengthening with our spiritual strength ? 

You do not deny that " the Gospel is the power of God 
unto salvation,'' because It is asserted by an authority you 
respect. But to whom is it such a power ? You reply from 
your memory, " To all them that believe. 5 ' But of what 
i^e is a belief that is obviously unintluential ? You are 
x 2 



£46 INCONSISTENCY OF CHRISTIANS 

unconsciously falling into the very error of the fanatic 
whom yon so justly condemn. Like him, you value your- 
sell upon your full assent to the truth of Christianity, 
You go beyond him, for you profess to have reason as well 
ss faith on your side. But is not that an irrational faith 
which professes to believe, that a principle is productive of 
salvation, and yet to rest contented while you are not go- 
verned by that principle ? You bring your reason and your 
w T i!l into the ordinary transactions of life ; the one impels, 
and the other guides, in almost all concerns except that one 
grand concern, where the impulse and the guidance are in- 
comparably the most important. You allow, indeed, in a 
general way, that the thoughts and pursuits of religion are 
the most worthy of attention, and then act as if you held 
no such opinion, made no such avowal. 

It is a wonderful* instance of the union of justice and 
mercy in God, that in the very act of making sin the mark- 
ed object of his displeasure, he makes the penitent offender 
the chosen object of his compassion. But revelation will 
afford no shelter to those who screen themselves under its 
promises, while they live in opposition to its laws; to 
those who desire to retain their vices, without relinquish- 
ing their hopes ; who take refuge in the very mercy they 
are abusing \ who think they exalt the efficacy of grace, 
by believing it will cancel, not only all the sins they have 
committed, but all they intend to commit. The truth is, 
if they really believe God, it is only when he promises, 
But shall he not also be believed when he threatens, or 
shall we desire him to abrogate half his word, that while 
we are violating one part, the other may confirm our secu- 
rity? Is not this subterfuge as much an abdication of com- 
mon sense, as a contempt of divine justice ? 

Unhallowed passions too frequently enlist both wit and 
argument into their service, the one laughs at their ex- 
cesses, the other reasons them away. Wit is no longer em- 
ployed in her nghtfcl office, to decorate virtue, but to ri- 



WITH CHRISTIANITY* 2£Z 

■dicule her. Reason is no longer called in to control 
appetite, but to plead for it. Indulgence confirms its do- 
minion. As the empire of sense is fortified, that of reason 
■declines. Even God is audaciously, though, perhaps, gaily 
arraigned, for having made corrupt inclinations natural, 
and then punishing their indulgence ; as if he had not given 
reason to restrain, as if he had not bestowed religion to 
control them. 

It is not an uncommon practice to assent to the truth of 
Scripture, and even to approve and recommend it, without 
?*£«%i>eiieving it ; for the test of belief is to make it the 
Tule of judging ourselves, and endeavouring to act as if we 
expected to be judged by it. The Christian doctrines will 
-always produce Christian affections and dispositions in the 
mind, in the proportion in which they are understood, in 
the degree in which they are cordially embraced. The 
temper and conduct of the Christian is a faithful reflection 
of the doctrines of Christianity ; and the improvement of 
bis life is the only evidence of his having received its truths 
into his heart. 

Of all the ingredients of which our intellectual and spi- 
ritual character is compounded, that is the most doubtful, 
uhe most unfixed, and the most easily shaken, which is in 
reality the basis of all our other principles, as well as the 
foundation of all our future Jiopes — we mean faith. It is the 
want of this living root which accounts for all the deformi- 
ties in the mind, ail the anomalies in the character of man. 
Disguise it as we will — and we confine not the eharge to 
the profligate, or even to the negligent — it is practical un- 
belief which so sadly depresses our moral standard. 

Yet the negligent in practice are not seldom confident 
in the profession of their faith. As they are not often 
troubled with any doubt of themselves, of course they in- 
stitute no very deep inquiry whether they do sincerely 
believe the promises of Christianity, But, however frivo- 
lous they may deem the scrutiny, it was once thought to bz 



24S INCONSISTENCY OF CHRISTIANS 

* matter worthy of a .serious inquiry among Christian*, 
whether their hopes were well-founded. Better men than 
many who now reckon themselves good, entertained doubts 
of their own state, and could not rest till they came to 
something like decision on this momentous question. Is 
then that sober inquiry, which was in them the truest mark 
of prudence, now to be treated as a needless scrupulosity, 
if not as an evidence of an unsound mind ? Are the doc- 
trines of the Gospel on which they bestowed so much 
thought and labour unworthy of yours ? Is that which 
was to them so serious a concern as to demand a combina- 
tion of their best faculties and their most fervent endea- 
vours, become so easy as to be comprehended at, a glance, 
and adopted in a moment? Are the difficulties, which 
cost them so much reflection, prayer, and self-denial, mira- 
culously removed, and made smooth for you ? Are things 
so altered, that while they worked out their salvation with 
fear and trembling, you are secure of an easy, indolent, al- 
most unsolicited salvation ? Are corrupt human nature and 
the requisitions of the Gospel now so suddenly accommo- 
dated to each other ? Are sin and safety grown so congru- 
ous ? Is it become so natural to fallen creatures to be re- 
conciled to God and goodness, without that long and seri- 
ous process which was once thought so indispensable to its 
accomplishment ? Is that superinduced principle which 
the most acute nation in the world accounted " foolishness ," 
and the most perverse people a " stumbling-block," become 
to you so easy of apprehension, so accessible to your reach, 
so facilitated to your corruptions, so certain of attainment, 
as to supersede the labour of examination, as to be acquir- 
ed without the trouble of pursuit? If to you the end is 
made sure, with the utter ignorance of the way, and a gen- 
eral neglect of the means ; if yfiu find that path clear which 
they found intricate ; if you obtain, without seeking, that 
assurance, by the bare promise of which they were sup- 
ported ; if all this be really your happy case, it must have 



WITH CH RISTI AN1T Y. 24 3 

achieved by some power which has not been before 
revealed, by some miracle which neither the Old or the 
New Testament has either recorded or predicted. 

You would do well then, besides looking back to the ora« 
-cles of truth, to inquire of your authorised instructors, if 
there has been any change effected in the requirements of 
Christianity, any deductions made in its demands, any 
facilities introduced into its scheme, any revelation by 
which the old impediments have been removed, and a 
■shorter cut to heaven cleared out? Consult some real 
Christians of your acquaintance ; inquire if thetj, despising 
and forsaking the good old way, found repentance^ pardon, 
holiness, victory over the wwld, and acceptance with God,, 
so slight, so rapid, yet so certain a thing ? Ask: if they be- 
came Christians by chance or by inheritance, if they were 
1' renewed in the spirit of their minds" by the mere form of 
baptism? Inquire if their entrance into a religious life cost 
them no sacrifice, if their attainments were accidental, if 
they maintained "the ground once gained without effort, if 
they improved it without prayer, if they were established 
in it without divine assistance ? 

The truth is, the persons in question either do not think 
the defect of faith a fundamental error. ; or they suppose 
they believe when they do not. When this last is the case, 
they rest satisfied in their mistake ; for people do not seek 
to extricate themselves from a doubt in which they da not 
feel entangled. It is however, practical unbelief which 
quenches the vital flame of virtue. 

Unbelief is not, as you are too ready to suppose, merely 
-one among the many evils of the heart, but it is the root 
and principle of them all. That faith is the foundation of 
virtue is implied to have been clearly understood by the 
Apostle when he speaks of " the obedience of faith." 

How hotly do we resent it, if our veracity is suspected I 
How Indignantly do our hearts rise, if our fellow-creatures 
-do not believe our word on occasion* th» most trivial ! Yet 



250 INCONSISTENCY OF CHRISTIANS 

we do not tremble at the idea of not believing the word of 
Omnipotence: yet do his promises excite no ardent desires 
in our hearts after the blessings they reveal. And could 
this possibly be the case, if we confidently credited the 
truth of the promises. 

If men only suspect there is some new road which may 
lead to fame or fortune, or any desirable acquisition, how 
sedulous are they in their inquiries after it, how anxious to 
ascertain its probability, how zealous to turn the informa- 
tion to their profit ! But when this grand concern is in 
question, so far from investigating, they take it for granted, 
they assume, not only that the thing is true, but that their 
interest in it is safe. It scarcely costs them a thought, 
they are seldom embarrassed with a doubt. So far from re- 
flecting how the difficulties which lie in the way may be re- 
moved, they do not inquire whether they exist, much less 
what they are ; and with those who would point them out, 
they evade the subject to save the trouble. We need look 
no further for the solution of our indifference than that we 
do not earnestly desire the promised felicity because of our 
practical incredulity. 

If an intelligent Chinese had been made acquainted witk 
the high privileges ar d sublime hopes of a Christian — what 
advantages he possesses here, and what prospects he has in 
reversion, not contingent, but certain, provided he turned 
his advantages to the securing of his prospects ; what pro- 
mises had been made him from an authority he allowed, 
and by a veracity he trusted ; — what a glorious people 
would he expect to find in a society of such highly privi- 
leged beings ! Would he not look for cordial obedience 
to his laws in whose will they daily express a complete ac- 
quiescence ? — for unbounded love and charity among crea- 
tures who periodically confessed that their own sins could 
not be forgiven, if they forgave notithe sins of others ? — for 
a gratitude among creatures who recognized one common 
redemption, which should bear some little proportion to his 



WITH CHRI8TIAMTV. 151 

•Qveby whom such an astonishing redemption had been 
wrought ? Would he not conclude that nothing could be 
wanting to their happiness but an entrance on that immor- 
tality for which they must be so well prepared — nothing 
wanting to their perfection, but the visible presence of Him 
whom they acknowledge to be its source and centre ? and 
that in the mean-time they were living the life of saints, 
preparatory to their commencing that of angels ? 

But when, on a personal intercourse, he observed that 
the lives of so many beings, the essence of whose religion is 
love, was a scene of strife and emulation — that this com- 
munity of Christians which he thought like the city of Je- 
rusalem, w r as at unity with itself, had rather be at unity 
with any thing than with each other— split into parties and 
torn asunder by conflicting interests ! — when he saw that 
the professors of a religion, founded in humility and self- 
denial, could be proud without reproach, and voluptuous 
without discredit ; when he saw, in so many other respects^ 
the inconceivable distance between our lives and our pat - 
terns, our hopes and our aims, would he not believe the 
whole had been a misrepresentation ? Would he not re- 
joice, like a true patriot, to find that there was less differ- 
ence between the inhabitants of Pekin and London than 
between the professor of Christianity and the Gospel from 
which he took his rule? Would net this be his natural in- 
ference, either that Christianity is not true, or that its 
avowed disciples do not believe it? When he comparea 
their actual indulgences with their exalted expectancies, 
would he not believe that their religion was founded on a 
proclamation for present enjoyment, and not on a promise 
of future blessedness? In any event, would he conceive that 
eternal glory was to be obtained without aa dJbrt, T bsi 
almost said without a wisV 



CHAP. XX*. 

EXPOSTULATION WITH THE INCONSISTENT CHKISTiA!f 

The most valuable truths, though known, are useless, if 
not applied. Though men were acquainted with the mag- 
netic power of the loadstone before the Christian era, it 
remained an object of idle admiration > till within a very 
few centuries. The practical use of the needle being at 
length found out, its application to its true end gave man- 
kind access to unknown regions, and opened to them a new 
world. If such were the application of religious knowledge 
to its proper end, it would, indeed, open to us a world, in 
which, not only one, but every adventurer, might be re* 
warded, not with discovery merely, but with possession. 

To this unseen world God has shewn us the way by his 
word, has smoothed that way by his grace, has promised us 
the direction of his Spirit; has given us free access by hfe 
Son, revealing him to us at once, as our propitiation and 
eur pattern. Shall we not, then, thankfully embrace this 
propitiation, and keep this pattern before our eyes? And 
though our nearest approaches will be infinitely distant, let 
us come as near to it as we can, and let us frequently try, 
fey the only true touchstone, whether we have more receded 
•r approached. If we find our deflection has been greater 
gince the last examination, let the discovery put us upon 
praying more fervently, watching more vigilantly, and la- 
bouring more earnestly. If we have gained any ground, 
let us try to secure our advantages by pushing our progress* 
What a low standard, and yet it was a high one in his esti- 
mation, did he propose, who said to his friend, w If thou 
art not Socrates, yet live as one who would be glad to be 
Socrates !" To what an elevated pitch were kis viewi 
raised, who, disdaining an mfe^r mode}, ?ai3, u B? ve like 
mMed wifh Cfemt I!' 



THE INCONSISTENT CHRISTIAN- $Jf$ 

Every degree of goodness is only a ray from the central 
perfections of God. There is no shadow of right in any 
of his creatures but is indicative of his immeasurable good- 
ness. The human virtues had originally a stronger resem- 
blance to, and more intimate correspondence with, ike 
Being from which they emanated, but by man's apostacy, 
the analogy was not only impaired, but nearly lost. Yet a 
sufficient knowledge of what is good, an ample power of 
judging, remains to us, to convince us, that religion is a 
very reasonable principle, that it is addressed to our under- 
standings as well as to our affections God, by the revela- 
tion of himself and his purposes, does not destroy, but 
strengthen, our natural notions of rectitude, our rational 
ideas of justice, our native feelings of truth and equity. 
The Scripture account of the moral perfections of God, 
and of the manner in which he will judge the world, is 
consonant to those notions which he has implanted in ug. 
Christianity exalts, clears and purifies the light of reason, 
ennobles and elevates the dictates of natural concience, 
but does not contradict them — does not subvert our ideas 
of justice, nor overturn our innate sense of right and 
wrong. Our nature, though full of perverseness in the 
will, is not so preposterous in her judgment, as to believe 
that a revelation from God would ever teach a law in di- 
rect opposition to natural justice \ that the illumination of 
the Gospel was meant to extinguish H the candle of the 
Lord" set up in every^ human bosom. God would be in- 
consistent with himself, if he gave us the light of reasOn y 
dim indeed, but stiii a light, and then gave us a revelation, 
not to clear that dimness, not to enlighten that compara- 
tive darkness, but to oppose, eclipse, extinguish it. 

To this capacity of judging, to this power of determin- 
ing, and to your profession of faith, we venture to appeal, 
We are not arguing with you as with persons who deny 
the truth of Christianity, but addressing you as avowed 
believers, who neglect the application of that truth wi#6& 



2j* EXPOSTULATION WITH 

the infidel denies. We do not propose any disallowed 
scheme} we do not offer any rejected doctrine, any dis* 
puted opinions ; we do not invite your submission to any 
authority which you do not acknowledge. We suggest 
nothing but what your understandings assent to, nothing 
fout what you profess to believe. Yet these truths you 
virtually disavow, this authority you actually renounce, 
this creed you practically subvert, if they do not furnish 
the ground of your conduct. You acknowledge all the 
verities of the Bible, but your lives are unaltered. Your 
hearts are impressible by all the tender human affections ; 
awake to all " the charities of father, son, and brother;" 
* — Why are they untouched, just where they ought to be 
most sensible, languid where they should be vigorous, dead 
where they should show most vital energy? 

There is in this conduct a double incongruity- The 
persons in question not only forbear to exhibit in 
their own lives those admirable effects which Chris- 
tianity is so calculated to produce, bat they do not 
like to see them produced to any great extent in others. 
They are not backward in branding those who exhibit, in 
their fair proportions, the practical effects of the doctrines 
they themselves profess to admire, with the suspicion of 
hypocrisy, or the reproach of extravagance. In the, com- 
mon -course m affairs, nothing is more censured than incon- 
sistency, In religion it is quite otherwise. It is thought 
criminal to make no religious profession ; yet, to act con- 
sistently with that profession, to make the practice square 
with the principle,, in short, to live as w* believe, exposes 
a person -so be suspected of a deficiency of sense, or of 
sincerity j subjects him to a doubt, either of the integrity 
of lib heart, or the sanity of his mind. 

Christianity lays down plain rules for the conduct of 
E&ose who profees it. T)ie Bible is in the hands of this 
class of professors ; but when a portion of it has been 
carelessly perused, it is considered as having done its of- 
fice. It is laid down, and the reader, instead of apphin;; 



THE INCONSISTENT CHRISTIAN. 255 

te his conduct the law he has been studying, immediately 
applies to the law of custom, of fashionable acquaintance, 
of caprice, of appetite, for that rule which, in conversation 
he would acknowledge, was only to be found in the book 
he had been reading. In matters of faith, an indefinite 
assent is yielded ; he only desires to be excused from the 
consequences they involve. He would, indeed, like to 
cavil at some points, but an unexamined approbation cosis 
less trouble: so he believes in the gross, occasionally, 
however, indulging a little levity to shew his wit, and a 
few doubts, to shew his discrimination. 

We do not act thus on other occasions. The arts we 
learn we turn to the purpose for which we learned thenio 
The science we acquire we apply. The study of geometry 
is made applicable to practical purposes. The know ledge 
of mechanics is not studied for its own sake, but for the 
benefit of those, to whom the application brings so many 
conveniences. The fairest hand-writing would be of little 
value, if the use did not follow the acquisition. Yet if re- 
ligion is not only of more allowed importance, but of more 
universal application, than all human knowledge put to- 
gether, why is it not, like that, brought to bear on the 
purpose for which it was sent, the rectification of the heart 
and life? If we acknowledge the Bible to be the only 
unerring road-book to that land to which we are travelling, 
why, after consulting it in the closet, do we forget it on 
the journey, not only neglecting the direction it affords 
ut pursuing contrary paths of our own devising. 

It is a spectacle to excite the tenderest commiseration 
when we observe the excellent gifts of God to some of his 
most favoured creatures — when we see the brightest natu- 
ral faculties improved by high cultivation, together with 
that degree of acquaintance with religion, which not only 
expels infidelity, but leads to a certain vague adoption of 
the Christian creed — when we see men, not only rich in 
mental endowments, but possessed of hearts glowing with 



256 EXPOSTULATION 1VITH 

generosity and kindness — when we see such beings as much 
absorbed in the pursuits of time and sense, as dead to the 
highest ends of their being, limiting their plans to the pre- 
sent life as completely as if they did not believe in that 
immortality which yet makes part of their system ! — to see 
them overlooking the excellences which may be attained 
in this state preparatory tatheir perfection in a better ; — 
unobservant of that deep basis which God has laid in our 
very nature for the condition of future blessedness— for- 
getting how he has not only graciously put us in the way 
to attain it, but has exhorted, but has invited us, only to 
consent, only to submit to be eternally happy! When we 
hear the Saviour of sinners condescending to express this 
tender regret at their reluctance, " Ye will not come to 
me, that ye might have life" — Who can, without sorrow, 
contemplate such a discrepancy between the practice and 
the destination, the pursuits and the interests, the low de- 
sires and the high possibilities, the unspeakable oilers and 
the incorrigible blindness ? 

But in our lapsed humanity, sense, in opposition to faith, 
Is too frequently the dictator. If we see through a glass, 
and that darkly, it is because the medium is clouded by the 
breath of sensuality. Appetite is the arbitrary power 
which renders every appeal to reason and religion fruitless. 
The pleasures of the present life have matter and sub- 
Stance, and we act as if those of heaven were dreams and 
visions. Self-love errs only in mistaking its objects, in 
putting the brief discipline which we are called to exercise 
here on a level with eternal suffering ; it mistakes in fas- 
tening itself on the lower part of our nature, and forget- 
ting that our souls are ourselves. 

But surely God did not give his creatures such improve- 
able powers, such strong notices of himself, without some 
farther end and design than can be perfected in this brief 
state of being ! He never would have given us a nature ca- 
pable of knowing and lovbg him here, if it were not part 






THE INCONSISTENT CfMUSTlAft'. S^7 

m his scheme that our knowledge and love of him should 
be perfected in eternity. We are not the creatures of 
casualty. We did hot come into this world by chance, or 
by mistake, for any uncertain end, or any undetermined 
purpose, but for a purpose of which we should never lo«^ 
sight, for an end to which we should have a constant ?efe 
rence ; that we might bring glory to God now, and be re- 
ceived by his grace to glory everlasting. 

For though all the contributions of ali the creatures in 
existence can a(fcl nothing to his inherent glory, yet be 
has condescended to declare that he will be glorified by us. 
Instead of which, what misshapen ideas do not many form 
of God ! How do they deface the plan of Providence ! 
Were that commodious creed true, that mercy^is his exclu- 
sive attribute, how safely might we sin on ; the profligate 
would be as secure of pardon and acceptance as the peni- 
tent, the profane a,sthe pious, the voluptuous as ihe self de- 
nyir 3, the sceptic as the believer, the lovers -of pleasure as 
the lovers of God. 

Instead of endeavouring " to be conformed to the image 
of God," according to his express command, do not too 
many thus form a God after their own image, by thinking 
him such a one as themselves ? Do they not almost slide 
into the practice of ihe Epicureans, who, having made a 
scheme of ease, indolence* and indulgence, for their con- 
duct, prudently invented gods accommodated to their own 
taste and habits? In them there was consistency. It was 
making their faith of a piece with their practice, when they 
made their deities as careless, as sensual, and as pleasure- 
loving as themselves. But surely under a pure dispensa- 
tion, to form a false and unworthy estimate of the charac- 
ter of the Supreme Governor of the universe, is scarcely 
legs criminal than to deny his existence. Where ie the 
difference between divesting him of his being, and of his 
perfections ? 

Our Saviour and his Apostle, in their classification of 
". Y-2 



258 EXPOSTULATION WITH 

gins, frequently bring together such as appear to us to have 
a wide disparity. " Emulation" is classed with " strife/' 
a variances'' with idolatry," " revelling*' with " murder." 
Those " who mind earthly things" are coupled with those 
u whose end is destruction." In enumerating the offences 
which shall make his second coming so tremendously awful, 
Christ ranks the being " overcharged with the cares of this 
life" — cares which we are apt to call prudence and indus- 
try—with sins, of which Christian industry and prudence 
woald think with abhorrence. 

If the apology we make is, that we are governed by ex- 
ample, if we plead the necessity of acting as others, especi- 
ally as our acquaintance act, we intrench ourselves in ex- 
cuses which have no analogy with our conduct on other oc- 
casions. We are never so disinterested as to think of being 
eick, or poor, or miserable for company. We never gene- 
rously plead the necessity of involving ourselves in debt, 
because our friends are so involved— of being ruined, be- 
cause those whom we Jove are ruined. Shall sympathy, 
civility, imitation, and a social spirit, then, be pleaded only 
on occasion of mischiefs that are irrevocable, reserved for 
errors that are irretrievable, for practices, the consequences 
of which will be irremediable ? 

It is a low degree in the scale of goodness with which 
they are contented, who congratulate themselves that they 
are not worse than others, and a death-blow to the noble 
ambition of piety when they are contented not to be bet- 
ter. If, indeed, they think they are perfectly happy now, 
they need look no farther. But before they answer this 
important question, are you happy ? let them interrogate 
their own heart. If they ask it fairly, it will answer ho- 
nestty, lam not happy. Happiness is incompatible with 
the state of their minds, with the nature of their pursuits. 
The very fondness for variety proceeds from an internal 
iense of indigence. They are satiated Without being satis*- 
£ed- The- ever- renewed and ever- frustrated attempts of 



THE INCONSISTENT CHRISTIAN. 2£9 

the fabled daughters of Danaus, whose labour, a Pagan 
poet tells us, was infinite, and their punishment eternal, is- 
the disappointing life and lot of these mistaken votaries of 
worldly enjoyment The prophet annexes, to somewhat 
of the same discouraging pursuit, a» awful explanatory 
reason, when he represents Uiq error of those who M hew 
out broken cisterns which hold no water/' to have origi- 
nated in their " forsaking the fountain of living waters." 

But even the most careless livers have not lost the na- 
tural sense of the moral quality of actions. They can rea? 
son upon them; they understand the rules they violate; 
they retain the perception of excellence ; they preserve 
the feeling of kindness ; they had rather be the objects of 
regard than dislike, if it could be acquired at a cheaper 
rate, than that of forming their conduct by the principles 
they approve. They wish they were better, while they 
make no effort towards being other than they are. Their 
very wish for amendment is so cold, so careless, and so 
flight, that it'wants all the characters of repentance, all 
the energies of resolution, all the sincerity of reformation. 
While we sometimes hear from these persons, in addition 
to this wish, a general declaration, that they hope they 
shall mend, we seldom see any step taken in consequence 
of this profession; on the contrary, they are quieted for the 
time j they take a sort of heartless comfort in this better 
taste ; they flatter themselves it is a proof they love vir- 
tue, though they neglect it. But they do not act thus in 
w T l«ai truly interests them. If there is a scheme of amuse- 
ment in view, the time is accurately settled, the party 
nicely adjusted, their punctuality is exact, there is neither 
delay nor excuse. It is only on matters of everlasting in- 
• terest that they beg leave to postpone, what they would 
not H thought to reject. Among all the countless genera- 
tions of frail and fallen humanity, incomparably the most 
numerous community, is the sect of Postponers. If, as 
some old divine quaintly observes, <s hell is paved with 



2S0 EXPOSTULATION WITH 

good intentions," may we not say, that the postpones, of 
which multitudes are found in all ages, and in all churches, 
are the class that has contributed the greatest number of 
squares to the tesselated pavement. Is it not an inconsis- 
tency common to every member of this sect, to wish that 
the portion of his life which is gone by had been spent in 
virtue, while this wish is too feeble to stimulate his future 
days to those pursuits in which he laments the past were 
not spent ? 

You do not act thus inconsistently by any necessity of 
nature; depraved as the will is, in common with our other 
faculties, it does not necessarily rob you of the power of 
determining ; it does not take from you the ability of im- 
ploring the strength you want. To chuse the goe-d, and 
to refuse the evil, is yet left to your option. Why do the 
Scriptures makes such repeated and solemn appeals to the 
will, if its agency were so utterly involuntary ? On this will 
there is no irresistible compulsion. On the supposition that 
this were not the case, all human laws would be unreason- 
able, all courts of judicature not only unjast but preposter- 
ous ; all legal executions absurd as well as inhuman ; for 
would it not he barbarous to punish crimes which the per- 
petrator was not left at liberty to avoid ? In this case 
Ravaillac would have been guiltless, and Bellingham ex- 
cusable. 

Nor is it your reason which dissuades you from religion, 
If you would consult its sound and sober dictates, it would 
point to religion as naturally as the eye points to the ob- 
ject it would investigate, as the needle to its attracting 
point. It is not your reason but your corruptions which. 
turn away your heart from religion, because it tells you 
that something is to be done in opposition to their sway, 
something to be opposed contrary to their nature, some* 
thing to be renounced congenial with their gratification. 

It is a fatal mistake to expect to get rid of an evil by 
trying to become insensible to it. To divert the attention 



THE INCONSISTENT CHRISTIAN. 26* 

in order to stupify the conscience, is almost imitating the 
malefactor about to be executed, who swallows cordials, 
which, if they allay his terrors, do so only by deadening 
his sensibility. Take, then, a distinct view of your state, 
and of your prospects. Deliberation is valuable, were it 
only on this ground, that while you are deliberating, them 
is an intermission of passion, there is an interval of appe- 
tite : as these intermit, better feelings have time to rally, 
better thoughts to come forward, better principles to strug- 
gle for eperation. 

If with hearts naturally inclined to evil (as what heart is 
not i), and in a world abounding with temptation, you 
have strayed widely from the strait path, you are not com- 
pelled to pursue it We need continue in sin no longer 
than we love it. Close not then your heart against that 
grace which is offered to all ; it will perfect the work it has 
once begun, if we do not wilfully oppose its operations. 
Let us not therefore lay all the blame on our natural con- 
ceptions, as if we were compelled to sink under them. 
They will, indeed, continue to impede our progress, but 
unless aided by our inclination, they will not finally ob-= 
struct it. But wilfully to sin on, and yet expect pardon 
through the merits of our Redeemer, looks like an impious 
plot to blind the eyes* of Omniscience, and to tie the hands 
of Omnipotence. We shall always have this infallible cri- 
terion by which to judge of our state ; we may be assured 
that cur sins are not forgiven, if they are not mortified. 
We need not pry into our destination in the inscrutable de« 
crees of the Almighty, but in our own rectified affections, 
our own subdued will. Let us never remit our diligent 
by any persuasion of our security, nor slacken our o 
ence by any fond conceit that our names are written in 
heaven. 

But alas! the soul, is full of the body, the intellect i> 
steeped in sense. The spiritual life is immersed in ihe anv 
ma!. Reason and appetite, instead of keeping tfrfij 



262 EXPOSTULATION WITH 

tmct natures, are in many instances so mixed and incorpo- 
rated, that it is not always easy to decompose and reduce 
them to their separate principles. It is in want of cordial 
sincerity which prevents truth from being sought, and 
where she is not sought, she will not be found. Internal 
purity of heart, and sanctity of spirit, afford a |airer exhi- 
bition of religion, than the most subtle dogmas, and the 
most zealous debates. 

If we seek peace in God, we shall never fail of finding 
it ; if we look for it in the world, it is to look for a clear 
stream from a polluted source. We have a spirit within 
ug that will occasionally, though unbidden, remind us of our 
higtr original, " from what height fallen.'' How widely 
have we wandered in search of the good we have lost ! 
We have sought for it in the tumults of ambition, in the 
pleasures of voluptuousness, in the misleadings of flattery, 
in our own high imaginations, in the self-gratulations of 
pride, in the secret indulgence of that vanity, which, pro- 
bably, it has been one part of our pride not to cure but to 
conceal. Let us begin to seek for it where alone it is to 
be found, where alone God has promised it— in the " way ,s 
which he has opened, in the " truth" which he has reveal- 
ed, and in the " life" which he has quickened. 

Do not, then, any longer make religion an incidental 
item in your scheme of life. Do not turn over the consi- 
deration of it to chance; make if a part of your daily plan ; 
take it up as a set business ; give it an allotted portion in 
the distribution of your daily concerns, while you admit it 
as the pervading principle of them all. You carry on no 
other transaction casually; *you do not conduct your pro- 
fession or manage your estate by fits and starts. You do 
not expect your secular business will go on well without 
minding it. You set about it intently ; you transact it 
with a fixed design ; you consider it as a definite object. 
You would not be satisfied with it, if it brought you no 
return, still less would you be satisfied not to know whether 



THE INCONSISTENT CHRISTIAN. £$3 

it brought any return or not. Yet you are contented 
as to this great business of life, though you perceive no 
evidence of its progress. You see no absurdity in a religi- 
ous profession which leaves you as indigent as it found you. 
Does it not look as if your sincerity, in the one case, did 
not keep pace with youmeartoestness in the other ; as if 
your religion was a shadow, and your secular concerns 
were the only reality I 

Begin then to be distinct in your purposes, explicit in 
your designs, since, e in your pursuits. You profess to read 
the Scriptures occasionally; if the perusal has hitherto 
produced no sensible enect, this is only an additional mo- 
tive for making the incidental practice habitual. Do not 
intermit it under pretence that it has produced no benefit, 
Itiifa great thing to keep within the use of God's appoint- 
ed means. If you had not some pleasure in even a casual 
perusal, you would avoid it altogether. The blessing 
which has been so long delayed perhaps has not been cordi- 
ally requested ; when earnestly desired, it will not be final- 
ly withheld. Light precedes warmth in the daily course 
of nature. Begin then to consider that knowledge noi 
turned to profit will be a grand article at the final reckon 
mg. How many thousands have not even made the pro- 
gress which you have made ; have not attained that literal 
acquaintance with the Bible which you have attained. 
They are utterly, perhaps irreclaimably, ignorant. Yoi: 
have laid in, at least in your understanding, a certain 
ihough perhaps slender stock of materials, on which the 
divine light only waits to shine till you petition for it , 
that light which, if you will open your eyes to receive it , 
will shine more and more unto the perfect day. God ha> 
assured you in his word that he " waits to be gracious.'* 
The compassionate father in the parable moved more 
eagerly to embrace his son, than the returning prodigal to 
meet the parent. He scarcely waited for his protestations; 
ibe pardon prevented the confession ; he condescended t& 
rejoice even iu his acceptance of forgiveness! 



264 EXPOSTULATION WITH 

It is not a new scheme which is proposed to you ; it is 
not an imaginary project, an untried device. There is 
nothing unreasonable in the hope held out ; no elevation 
in piety but what with the offered aid is attainable ; noth- 
ing but what multitudes nave attained ; not merely pro- 
phets and saints and holy men, but persons whose cases 
were as unpromising as yours ; men labouring Under ,the 
same corruptions ; disturbed by the same passions, assailed 
by the same trials, drawn aside by the same temptations, 
exposed to the same dangerous world ; long led astray by 
its customs, long enslaved by its maxims. The same grace 
which rescued them is offered to you. The same spirit which 
struggled with their hearts is, perhaps, while you are read- 
ing these feeble lines, striving with yours. Resist not the 
impulse. Complete the assimilation. Let not the resem- 
blance be more imperfect in its fairer features than in its 
more deformed. Imitate their noble resolution. Recol- 
lect the glorious promise made, " to him that overcometh." 
The same power Which delivered them waits to deliver 
you. The ten thousand times ten thousand who now stand 
before the throne, were not innocent, but penitent — not 
guiltless men, but redeemed sinners. The same God waits 
to be gracious. The same Saviour intercedes. The same 
spirit invites. The same heaven is open. Plead that gra- 
cious nature, implore that divine intercessor, invoke that 
blessed spirit. Say not it is too late. Early and late are 
relative, not positive terms. While the door is yet open 
there is no hour of marked exclusion. So may an inheri- 
tance among the saints in light still be your?, 



( 265 ) 



CHAP XXII. 

BEFI.ECTIONS OF AN INCONSISTENT CHRISTIAN AFTER 
A SERIOUS PERUSAL OF THE BIBLE. 

I profess to believe that Christianity is true. Its promi- 
ses are high ; but what have been its profits. It is time to 
inquire into its truth and its advantages. It never, in- 
deed, pledged itself to confer honours or emoluments ; but 
It engaged to bestow benefits of another kind. If the 
Christian is deceived in these, he has nothing to console 
him. Now what am I the better for Christianity, it 
speaks of changing the heart from darkness to light. W hat 
illumination has my mind experienced from it? — But here 
a doubt begins to arise. Am I indeed a Christian? What 
claims have I to the character ? 

Is there any material difference, whether I depend on 
heaven as a thing of course, to those who have been bap- 
tized, though they possess no corresponding temper and 
conduct ; or whether I never reflect that there is a heaven, 
or whether I absolutely disbelieve that there is any such 
place ? Is the distinction so decisive between speculative 
unbelief, practical infidelity, and total negligence, as that 
either of them can afford an assurance of eternal happiness 
in preference to the other? Yet while the thought of hea- 
ven never enters my mind, should I not hotly resent it as 
an injury, if any one disputed my title to it? Should I not 
treat him who advised me to a more serious life, ae an ene- 
my, and him who suspected I required it, as a calumniator ? 
Is it not, however, worth the inquiry, whether my confi- 
dence of obtaining it is well founded ; and whether ray 
danger arises from my ignorance or my unfitness? 

If the scriptures be authentic — if, as I have always 
professed to believe, they indicate a state of eternal happi- 
ness, together with the means of attaining to it— then 
z 



266 REFLECTIONS OF AN 

surely not to direct my thoughts to that state, not to apply 
my attention to those means, is to neglect the state and the 
tilings, for which I was sent into the world. Providence, 
doubtless, intended that every species of being should reach 
the perfection for which it was created. Shall his only ra- 
tional creature be the only one which falls short of the 
end for which he was made ? the only one who refuses to 
reach the top of his nature, who refuses to comply with his 
original destination ? 

If T were quite certain that I was not created for such a 
great and noble end as Christianity hag revealed, I should 
then be justified in acting as a being would naturally act. 
who has no higher guide than sense, no nobler incentive 
than appetite, no larger scope than time, no ampler rang* 
than this world. And though I might then regret that my 
powers and faculties, my capacities and desires, were for- 
med for so low a purpose, and their exercise limited to so 
brief a space, yet it would not, in that case, be acting in- 
consistently, to turn my fugitive possessions, and my con- 
tracted span, to the best account of present enjoyment. 

But if I have indeed, as I profess to have, any faith 
however low, any hope however feeble, any prospect how- 
ever faint, is it rational to act in such open opposition to 
my profession ? Is it right or reasonable, to believe and to 
neglect, to avow and to disregard, to profess and to oppose, 
the same thing ? Do I raise my character for that under- 
standing on which I value myself, if, while I make confes- 
sion of a faith which has been adopted by the wisest men 
in different ages, my temper is not, like theirs, conformed 
to it, my will is not, like theirs, subdued to it, my life is not, 
like theirs, governed by it. 

I think this world more certain than the next, because 
I have the evidence of my senses to its reality ; and because 
its enjoyments are present, visible, tangible. But the 
<d\v.e being who gave rny senses, gives also reason and 
faltfc : and do not these afford to the sincere inquirer other 



INCONSISTENT CHRISTIAN. 267 

evidence of no less power? Even in many natural things, 
we receive the evidence of reason as confidently as the tes- 
timony of sense. Our reason informs us, that the things 
we see could not have been produced without a cause 
which we do not see : we might as well say they have no 
being, as that they had no cause — and yet the cause lies 
a9 completely out of our reach as the things of another 
World. The unseen things, then, may be as satisfactorily 
proved by other arguments, as the things we know are 
proved by our senses. But the highest evidence of things 
not seen is faith. - Even this principle we admit in worldly 
things, but reject in spiritual. We should know very little 
of this earth, if we knew only what we have seen. Now 
we believe that a multitude of things exist which we never 
saw, and which few, comparatively, have seen. This is the 
evidence of faith in the testimony of the relater. 

I see persons in the ordinary affairs of life act upon the 
mere report of authentic information ; conduct concerns 
analogous to those whose success is made known to them 
by impartial evidence, and act confidently on the relation 
of credible witnesses ; and they would be thought perverse 
and unreasonable, were not their conduct influenced by 
such competent testimony. Is it, then, only in the mo- 
mentous concern of religion, where these appropriate evi- 
dences are allowed to be incontestable, where a revelation 
from heaven, where the attestation of undeniable wit- 
nesses, has established the truth in the minds of inquiring 
men beyond a doubt — Is it only where the testimony is 
the most unquestionable, and the object the most trans- 
cendency important, that neglect is pardonable, that delay 
u prudent, that indifference is safe ? 

It is time to arrive at some decision on a question which. 
if it be any thing, is every thing; which, if it be indeed 
founded 'in infallible truth, involves consequences so vast, 
effects so lasting, that all the other concerns of the whole 
world shrink into nothing, when tveighed against my in- 
dividual concern in this single business. 



268 REFLECTIONS OF AN 

That thinking mind which enables me to frame these re- 
flections, that sentient spirit which suggests these appre- 
hensions, those irrepressible feelings which drive out my 
thoughts, and force my speculations beyond the present 
scene, prove, that I have something within me which was 
made for immortality. If. them I am once convinced of 
these truthe, can I any longer hesitate to devote my best 
thoughts to my highest good, my chiefest care to my near- 
est concern, my most intense solicitude to my everlasting 
interests? 

Lord, I believe ; help thou my unbelief! Convert ray 
dead faith into an x operative principle ! Let my sluggish 
will be auickened, let my reluctant desires give some signs 
of life. Let it be an evidence of the real existence of 
my faith, that it is not inert. 

We talk of the glory of heaven as coolly, and hear of 
It with as much indifference, as if it were the unalienable 
birth right of every nominal Christian, and that our secur* 
ity left no room for our solicitude. But I now find, on ex- 
air oing it more clo?ely, that the Bible speaks of a thing 
which Christians of my class neglect to take into the ac- 
count ; a fitness for that glory, a spirit prepared for that 
etatp. which God has prepared for them thai Jove him. 
It. aoi only promises them heaven, but quicken? their de- 
sires after it, qualifies them for the enjoyment of it Now, 
can ' conscientiously declare that I possess, that T have 
ever endeavoured to possess, those desires, without which 
heaven is unattainable . those dis positions, without which, 
if it could be attained, it would not be a place of happi- 
ness? Is it, then probable, arguing upon merely rational 
grounds, that God will receive me to his presence there, if 
I continue to live without him in the world? Will he 
accept me whtn I come to die, alienated from him in 
heart and thought as I have lived ? 

After all. uncertainty is no comfortable state. It is saf- 
er to seek a satisfactory solution to roy doubts by serious 



INCONSISTENT CHRISTIAN, 2§9 

inquiry; to geek tranquillity to my heart by earnest pray- 
er* It is better to implore the promised aid, to strengthen 
my vacillating mind, even though I renounce a little pre- 
sent ease, a little temporary pleasure. If, indeed, avoid- 
ing to think of the evil would remove it, if averting my 
eyes from the danger would annihilate it, all would be 
well. But if, on the contrary, fearing it now, may avert 
it for ever, common sense, reasonable self love, mere human 
prudence, compel me to make the computation of the re- 
lative value of time and eternity. I may, indeed, as I 
have frequently done, postpone my purpose to some future 
time. But then I am not so skilled in the doctrine of 
chances as to be quite certain that time may ever arrive. 
He that intends to reform to-morrow does not repent to- 
day. When delay is danger, is it not foolish to delay ? 
Where it may be destruction, is it not something worse 
thzn folly ? I will arise, andgo to my Father, &c, &c. &x« 



(270) 



CHAP. XXIIL 

THE CHRISTIAN IN THE WORLD. 

"TfeU only doctrinal truth," says Bishop Sande 
" which Solomon insisted on, when he took the whole 
world for hh large but barren text, was. that all is vanity." 
This was not the verdict of a hermit railing from his cell 
at pleasures untasted, or at grandeur unenjoyed. Among 
the sons of men, not one had sought with more unremitted 
diligence, or had wider Avenues to the search, for whatever 
good either skill or power could extract out of the world, 
than Solomon. No one could judge of the sweets which 
can be drawn from this grand Alembic, with higher natural 
abilities, or with deeper experimental wisdom. He did 
not descant on the vanity of the world so eloquently till 
he had considered it accurately and examined it practi- 
cal;} 7 . He was not contented, like a learned theorist, t# 
collect his notions from philosophy or history, or hearsay ; 
he well knew what he said, " and whereof he 
All upon which he so pathetically preached he had seen 
with his eyes, heard with his ears, and. in his widely-roving 
search, had experienced in his own disappointed mind, and 
felt in his own aching heart. He goes on to prove, by an 
induction of particulars, the grand truth propounded in 
his thesis the vanity of ihe wr!d. He shews, in a regular 
scrips of experiments, how he had ransacked its treasures, 
exhausted it? enjoyment?, and even to satiety revelled in 
its honours, riches, and delights re had been an intel- 
lectual as well as sensual voluntary, and had empi.e 
resource? of knowledge a« veil as of pleasure — Then re- 
vertia r in the close of hU discourse to the point from which 
he bod set out, he again, pronounces that all is vanity. 

■' Tb^ conclusion of the ^vbole matter' which he draw? 
fcsm tto melancholy argument, as finely exhibited as pe?^ 



THE CHRISTIAN IN THE WORLD. 2/2 

sively conceived, is a solemn injunction to others to remem- 
ber, what it is to be feared the Preacher himself had some- 
times forgotten, that the whole duty of man is to fear God, 
and keep his commandments : winding up his tine perora- 
tion with a motive in which every child of Adam is equally, 
is awfully concerned, u because God shall bring every work 
into judgment." 

May not every real Christian, while his heart is touched 
with the affecting truth of the text, be admonished by this 
solemn valedictory declaration? May he not ieam the 
lesson inculcated at less expence than it was acquired by 
this great practical ma?ter of the science of wisdom ? If 
another sovereign was told there was no royal way to geo- 
metry, the Kin g of Israel has opened a royal way to a 
more divine philosophy. By the benefit to be derived 
from contemplating this illustrious instance of " how little 
are the great,'' the Christian may set out where Solomon 
ended. He may be convinced of the vanity of the World 
at a price far cheaper than Solomon paid for it, by a way 
far safei than his own experience. He may convert the 
experiment made by the royal Preacher to his own personal 
account. He may find in the doctrines of the Gospel a 
confirmation of its truth, in its precepts a counteraction 
to its perils, in its promises a consolation for its disappoint- 
ments. 

In this world, such as Solomon has vividly painted ifc^ 
the Christian is to live —is to live, through divine assis- 
tance, untainted by its maxims, uncontaminated by its 
practices. Man being obviously designed by his Creator 
for social life, and society being evidently his proper place 
and condition, it seems to be his duty, not so much to con- 
sider what degree of possible perfection he might have at- 
tained in that state of seclusion to which he was never des- 
tined, as how he may usefully fill his allotted sphere in 
the world for which he was made ; how he may conscien- 
My discharge the duties t* which he is plainly called by 



272 THE CHRISTIAN IN THE WORLD, 

providential ordination. To think bow he may acquit him. 
self well in his actual state and condition, is clearly more 
profitable, than to waste his time and spirits, in devising 
the best speculative scheme of life, to the adoption of 
which there is little probability of his ever being appoint- 
ed. 

We were not sent into this world with orders to make 
ourselves miserable, but with abilities, and directions, and 
helps, to search out the best possibilities of happiness which 
remain to beings, fallen from that state of moral and men- 
tal rectitude in which man was created ; to make the best 
of the ruins of that perfect world whose beauty he had 
marrejf, and whose capacity of conferring felicity he had 
fatally impaired. Human life, therefore, abounding as it 
does in blessings and mercies, is not the blissful vision which 
youthful fancy images, or poetry feigns, or romance exhib- 
its. It is in a considerable measure compounded of pain- 
ful and of dull realities, and not a splendid tissue of grand 
events or brilliant exploits; it is to some an almost unt- 
ried state of penury, to many a series of cares and trou- 
bles, to all, a state of probation. But the primeval pun- 
ishment, the sentence of labour, like the other inflictions 
of Him who in judgment remembers mercy, is transfer 
med into a blessing. And, whether we consider the man- 
ual industry of the poor, or the intellectual exertions of 
the superior classes, we shall find that diligent occupation, 
if not criminally perverted from its end, is at once the in- 
strument of virtue and the secret of happiness. Man can- 
not be safely trusted with a life of leisure. 

As the character about to be briefly considered is presu- 
med to be a real Christian, it would be superfluous, for two 
reasons, to insist that his vocation in the world must be 
lawful. It is not to be supposed that a religious man will 
ever engage in an employment that is illicit ; and it is al- 
most equally beyond supposition, that persons who are ac- 
tually so engaged, will cast their eyes on a book whose 
tendency is serious, 



THE CHRIST4IN IN THE WORLD. 275 

But the most unexceptionable profession is not exempt 
from dangers It. requires strict watchfulness, not only to 
conduct the most useful undertaking in a right spirit, and 
with a constant eye to Him, to whom every intelligent be- 
in-^ is accountable ; it requires not only constant vigilance 
against the allurements of avarice, and the baits of ambi- 
tion, but it requires cawtion against the unsuspected mis- 
chiefs of embarking so widely, or plunging so deeply in 
any temporal concern, as almost necessarily to deteriorate 
the character. He embarks too widely, and plunges too, 
deeply, however honourable be the undertaking, if it ab- 
sorb the whole man — if it so crowd his mind with inter- 
fering schemes and complicated projects, as to leave no 
time and no thought, and gradually no inclination, for that 
reference which should be the ultimate end of all human 
designs. 

It can never be too often repeated, however writers tire 
with saying, and readers with hearing it, that it is scarcely 
more necessary to address serious suggestions ta men sunk 
in gross pursuits, than to that large, and important, and 
valuable class, whose danger lies in the very credit, and 
dignity, and usefulness of their engagements. A thousand 
dissertations have been written, and yet the theme is not 
exhausted, on that hackneyed but neglected truth, tliat w$ 
are undone by lawful things, by excess in things right in 
themselves, and which only become wrong by being inor- 
dinately pursued — pursued to the neglect of things more 
essential ; when what is even laudable is exclusively sought, 
to the forgetfulness of what is indispensable. Things may 
not only be comparatively, but positively, good and yet 
not be " things which accompany palpation." They may 
not only be intended to be instrumental, but actually be 
so, both in advancing the prosperity, and in restraining the. 
disorders of this world, and so far be highly valuable, and 
yet the act may be substituted for that principle which 
should be its inspiring motive. The fault, however, is no) 



274 ^•fkj THE CHRISTAIN IN THE WORLD. 

in the thing, but in the mind, when useful actions are not 
done with a reference to the highest end. Of this refer- 
ence a Christian will aim never to lose sight. He will, be- 
fore he engage in the concerns of the day, prepare his 
mind by fervent devotion ; not only imploring ejection in 
the common course of action, and the expected occurrences 
of the day, but strength to meet those unknown occasions 
and unsuspected events, which, in human life, and especi- 
ally in a life of business, so frequently occur. "Without 
this panoply, he will not venture to engage with the 
World ; but the armour which he put on in solitude, he 
will not lay aside in the field of battle ; it was for that war- 
fare he had buckled it on. 

As the lawyer has his compendium of cases ancj preee 
dents, the legislator his statute^, the soldier his book of 
tactics, and every other professor his vade mecum to consult 
in difficulties, the Christian, to whichever of the professions 
lie may belong, will take his morning lecture from a more 
infallible directory, comprehending not only cases and pre* 
cedents, but abounding also with those seminal principle* 
Which contain the essence of all actual duty, from which 
all practical excellence m deducible. This spirit of laws 
differs from all other legal institutes, some of which, from 
that imperfection inseparable from the best human things, 
bave been found unintelligible, some impracticable, and 
some have become obsolete. The divine law is subject to 
no such disadvantages. It is perfect in its nature, intel- 
ligible in its construction, and eternal in its obligation. 

This sacred institute he will consult, not occasionally, 
but daily. Unreminded of general duty, unfurnished with 
eome leading hint for the particular demand, he will not 
venture to rush into the bustle, trial, and temptation of the 
day. Of this aid htM&viU possess himself with more ease, 
and less loss of time, as he will not have to ransack a mul- 
tiplicity of folios for a detached case, or an individual in- 
tricacy ; for, though he may not find in the Bible specific 



THE CHRISTIAN IN THE WORLD. $75 

mstauces, yet he will discover in every page some govern- 
ing truth, some rule of universal application, the spirit of 
which may be brought to bear on almost every circum- 
stance ; some principle suited to every purpose, and com- 
petent to the solution of every moral difficulty. Scrip- 
ture does not, indeed, pretend to include technical or pro- 
fessional peculiarities, but it exhibits the temper and the 
conduct which may be made applicable to the special con- 
cerns of every man, whatever be his occupation. He will 
find in it the right direction to the right pursuit, the 
straight road to the proper end ; the duty of a pure inten- 
tion ; and the prohibition of false measures to attain even 
a laudable object. No hurry or engagement will ever 
make him lose sight of that sacred aphorism so pointedly 
addressed to men of business, w He that maketh haste to be 
rich shall hardly be innocent." The cautionary texts he 
admired in his closet, he will not treasure up as classical 
mottoes to amuse his fancy, or embellish his discourse, but 
will adopt as rules of conduct, and bring them into every 
worldly transaction, whether commercial, forensic, medical, 
military, or whatever else be his professed object. He will 
not adjust his scale of duty by the false standard of the 
world, nor by any measure of his own devising ; he has but 
one standard of judging, but one measure of conduct — the 
infallible word of God. This rule he will take as he finds 
it, he will use as he is commanded ; he will not bend it to 
his own convenience, he will not accommodate it to his 
own views, his own passions, his own emolument, his own 
reputation. 

Here it may be asked, Why is not Scripture more ex- 
plicit in direction, more minute in detail? We find our 
self-love perpetually furnishing subterfuges for evading 
duties, and multiplying exceptions to rules. God, wlw> 
knows all hearts, and foresaw their captiousness, might, it 
may be said, have guarded against it by more enlarged in- 
structions. The holy Spirit, however, did not see fit to 



27 THE CHRISTIAN IN THE WORLD. 

descend to such minutiae, but, having given the principle,* 
left man, to the exercise of his reason, in the application of 
the general law to his particular case; for if he is left tm 
the use of his judgment, it is not that he may pervert truth, 
but apply it. His understanding and rectitude are per- 
petually called into joint exercise, for that which is imme- 
diately the duty of one man, another may not be called to 
perform. 

Not to distress the mind, therefore, with unnecessary 
scruples nor to perplex it by a multiplicity of circum- 
stances, some things are left in4efinite. An incumbered 
body of institutes would have been too vast and compli- 
cated for general use ; that time would be taken up in se- 
lecting them, which is better employed* in acting upon 
them. Even were every particular of every duty, in all 
its bearings, circumstantially ramified, it would not so'much 
direct the conduct, as furnish new pretences for neglecting 
it. Then, as now, it would be seen rather that the will is 
perverse, than the understanding unsatisfied. More am- 
plification would not have lessened objections. Those who 
complain now, that the rule is not explicit, would complain 
then, that it was tedious. A fuller exposition w r ould nei- 
ther have cleared doubts nor prevented disputes. It would 
then have been charged with redundancy, as it is now 
with defectiveness. 

If the world carries contamination to the heart, it car- 
ries also to the right-minded a preservative ; as the viper's 
blood is said to be an antidote for its bite. The living 
world is to such persons an improving exemplification of 
the moral lessons of histoiy. If we apply to our own im- 
provement the recorded excellences or errors of which we 
read ; if we are struck with the successes or defeats of am- 
bition ; the pursuits or disappointments of vanity ; the sor- 
did accumulations of avarice, or the wasting ravages of 
prodigality; if we are moved with instances of vice and 
virtue in men of whom we know nothing but what the hit- 



A 



THE CHRISTIAN Ml -JHS WOKilK 0¥ 

t/sriaa is pleased to tell us, and of whom he perhaps knew 
not much more ; if we read with interest of the violence of 
parties, of which both the leaders and the followers have 
been long laid in the dust ; if we are affected, as every in- 
telligent mind cannot but be affected, with these pictures 
of things, how much benefit may a well directed mind de- 
rive from seeing them realized ; from seeing the old scenes 
acted over again by living performers ; from living himself 
among the dramatis persona as one of the actors ; from 
taking a personal interest in a repetition of things which 
he condemned or applauded when only coldly presented to 
his understanding, and at which his principles revolted or 
rejoiced, even in the dead letter of narrative. He now 
sees the same sentiments embodied, the same passions 
brought into action, similar opinions operating upon actual 
conduct. 

If he is deeply touched when history presents to his 
riew the errors of high and heroic-minds, when it exhibits 
the aberrations of superior genius, how much more lively 
will be his regret, when he sees, among his own acquain- 
tance, the ardour of a noble and ingenuous mind exclusively 
consumed on objects > which might indeed be accounted 
great, if this world were all, but which never gives any 
practical intimation that there is another. But how muck 
more pungent will be his sorrow, when he observes lofty 
and sagacious spirits neglecting to make the most even of 
this brief state of being;— when he sees men who might 
have made the world a better thing than they found it, had 
they imployed their superior powers of intellect in study- 
ing how they might please God, by promoting the best 
interests of his creatures ; when he sees such understandings 
clouded by intemperance, such minds absorbed in studying 
the qualities of a race horse, or calculating the chances of a 
gaming-table! 

In another, and a more estimable class of characters, h* 
is struck with mingled admiration and concern, in obse^- 
a a 



978 THE CHRISTIAN IN THE WORLD. 

ving what good and resembling imitations of religion are 
made by honour, sense, and spirit ; how respectably moral 
honesty, kindness, and generosity may, to superficial ob- 
servers, personate Christianity, may even execute the act 
of piety with an utter destitution of the principle. He 
sees in certain minds some masterly strokes of natural 
beauty, which at once dignify and embellish them, so as, 
on some occasions, to tempt him to forget that they are not 
religious. But these brilliant qualities are not infused into 
the entire character, the excellence is limited to a few 
shining points, and the hollows are proportioned to the 
heights. Rich in some splendid virtues, there is no uni- 
formity in the principle ; there is perhaps some allowed sin. 
in the practice : while in the character of the real Christian, 
though there may be much infirmity, there is a desire of 
consistency — there is no deliberate transgression — there is 
even no unrepented error. 

These living lessons the pious observer will turn to ac- 
count. The impression thus made on his heart, from actual 
observation, will sink deeper, and be more durable, than 
the instruction to be obtained by a mere intellectual view 
of mankind, from information collected from writers, who 
are obliged to pick up facts, not from having witnessed 
them, but as they find them in preceding writers ; men who 
know little of the causes of which they describe the effects, 
or the motives of the actions they record. History paints 
men, acute observation anatomizes them. 

If he regret that his necessary duties in the world trench 
on the time he wouTd gladly devote to religious pursuits, 
Jet him take comfort that these regrets, if sincere, are an 
earnest of his safety. The very corruptions to which he is 
witness, will experimentally convince him of the truth of a 
doctrine, which is no where more completely learned than 
in the bustle of life. The perception of this evil in others, 
makes him watch against similar tendencies within ; ten- 
dencies which only the grace daily invaked by him prevent? 



THE CHRISTIAN IN THE WORLD. 279 

from breaking out into action. This deep conviction of 
man's corruption, instead of imparing his benevolence, will 
improve it. It will teach him not to expect too much 
from so imperfect a being, as well as to bear with the 
errors which his belief of the doctrine had led him to expect. 
This, together with his intercourse with the world, will 
cure him of that mistake so common to persons who have 
not lived in it, that of expecting no faults in those which a 
fond imagination, on a first acquaintance, had led them 
to believe perfect, and who, on the inevitable discovery, 
become too strongly disgusted with errors and imperfec- 
tions, on which they ought to have reckoned. He will 
never use his full conviction of the truth of which we have 
been speaking to the purposes of unworthy distrust, or 
base s^opicion. On the contrary, though he will exercise 
his discernment in the knowledge of men, and his discre- 
tion as to the confidence to be placed in them, he will not 
be ever on the look out to detect, much less to expose 
their errors. Though be " loves not the wrorld" in the 
Scripture sense of the term, he loves the individuals of 
whom it is composed, with the affection of sympathy. He 
will put a large and liberal construction on their actions, 
but he will not stretch that latitude to the vindication of 
any thing that is corrupt in principle, or criminal in con- 
duct. Nor will he be always on the defensive in his inter- 
course with them : he will not act with the narrow selfish- 
ness of the sordid trader, who is jealous of every man with 
wiiom he has business to transact, on no higher ground 
than lest he should lose money by him ; while he tolerates 
in his character every vice w T hich will not interfere with 
his pecuniary transactions. 

It is his aim to reconcile that charity which believeth all 
things, with that discrimination of character which shew* 
us, not only so many who are bad, but so much imperfec- 
tion, we may say, so much evil, in the comparatively good. 
'£© love and serve those In wkom we at the game time per« 



'SaSO THE CHEUITIA.N IM TtiE WGFJE-tt. 

•elve no little moral defect, is turning our spiritual discern 
rnent to a practical account. This principal, while it serve? 
to preserve us from an undue admiration of others, wUl 
teach us to suspect these, or other defects, in ourselves. 

The Christian in the world, anxious to improve his scan* 
ty leisure, will rescue from mere diversion those hours which 
cannot prudently be subtracted from business. To a man 
thus circumstanced, the Sunday is felt to be indeed a blcs&« 
ing ; to him it is emphatically " a delight." Instead oi' 
appropriating it as a day of premeditated conviviality, he 
converts it into a stated season of enjoyment of another 
kind. He hardly needs the injunction to " remember " t* 
keep it holy, though he is not unmindful, that, of the tei 
commandments, it is only the one prefaced with that ad4 
monition. He considers the observance as almost" more hi si 
privilege than his duty. The expectation of its return: 
cheers him under the perplexities of the week. He anti- 
cipates it as a rest here, and as a foretaste of eternal rest* 
He enlarges his pious exercises with the more satisfaction, 
as he is clearly assured that he is not on this day in danger 
of trenching on his professional duties ; and, from this re- 
flection, his heart more warmly expands m gratitude te 
Him whose day it more immediately is. He feels that, if 
it were barely a season ordained by seme public act, a roy 
al proclamation enjoining it as a necessary interval bet wee* 
the labours which close one week, and those which begirt 
another, a contrivance of ease, a measure of political pru- 
dence or personal tenderness to prevent the bodily machine 
and the overlaboured mind from wearing out, he would be 
grateful for its institution ; but to him the day come* 
fraught with benefits and blessings of a still higher kind. 
It is an appointment of God ; that entitles it to his reverence 
it is an institution of spiritual mercy ; it is the stated season 
for recruiting his mental vigour ; for inspecting his accoums 
with his maker ; for taking a more exact survey of the 
siate of his heart; for examining into his faults; for em- 



THE CHRISTIAN IN THE WORLB 281 

iterating his mercies ; for laying in, by prayer, fresh stores 
of faith and holiness ; for repairing what both may have 
lost in the turmoil of the week. His heated passions have 
leisure to cool ; his hurried mind to regain its tranquil tone ; 
his whole internal state to be regulated ; his mistakes to 
be reviewed ; his temper to be new set ; his piety to be 
braced up to the pitch from which it may have been sunk 
in the atmosphere he had been breathing. The pious man 
of business relishes his family society and fire- side enjoy- 
ments with a keenness not always felt by others If " the 
harp, and the tabret, and the viol," are not always heard 
in his feasts, he does what those who listen to them do not 
always remember to do, for i'he considers the works of the 
Lord, and regards the operations of his hands." It is not 
enough for the devoted Christian that his life is dedicated 
to him who gave it, his spirit is, as it were, exhaled in his 



* It is to be regretted, that the members of a learned and honoura= 
We profession, and which has produced so many exemplary charac- 
ters, should appoint their consultations on Sundays. It is urged in 
excuse, that they cannot clash with any public courts or sittings on 
that day. The leading men, by this custom, force some of those whose 
practice is less established into a breach of their duty, against which 
their consciences perhaps revolt. Might not one of these two sacri- 
fices obviate the necessity which is pleaded in its vindication ? Might 
t&ey not either reject such a superfluity of business as induces it— or, 
if that be too much to expect, might they not subtract the time from 
tfteir social and convivial hours ? 



a a L Z 



( 282 ) 



CHAP. XXIV. 

DIFFICULTIES AND ADVANTAGES OF THE CHRISTIAN IK 
THE WORLD. 

There are two things of which a wise man will be scru- 
pulously careful, his conscience and his credit. Happily 
they are almost inseparable concomitants ; they are com- 
monly kept or lost together ; the same things which wound 
the one, usually giving a blow to the other : yet, it must 
be confessed, that conscience and a mere worldly credit 
are not, in all instances, allowed to subsist together. God 
and our hearts — we speak of hearts which are looked into 
and examined— always condemn us for the same things, 
things, perhaps, for which we do not suffer in the opinion 
of the world : the world, in return, not seldom condemns 
us for actions, for which we have the approbation of God 
and our consciences. Is it right to put the verdict of such 
opposite judges on an equality, nay to abide by that which 
will be less than nothing when his sentence, whose favour, 
is eternal life, shall be finally pronounced ? 

Between a wounded conscience and a wounded credit 
there is the same difference as between a crime and a cala- 
mity. Of tw r o inevitable evils, religion instructs us to sub- 
mit to that which is inferior and involuntary. As much 
as reputation exceeds every worldly good, so much, and 
far more, is conscience to be consulted before credit — if 
credit that can be called, which is derived from the accla- 
mations of a mob, whether composed of u the great vulgar 
or the small." 

Yet are we not perpetually seeing, that, to secure this 
worthless fame, peace and conscience are sacrificed ? For 
to what but a miserably false estimate of the relative value 
of these two blessings ; what but the preference of charac- 
ter to duty— in support, too, of a rotten part of it — is it, 



CHRISTIAN IN THE WORL». 2So> 

that the wretched system of duelling not only maintains 
its ground, but is increasing with a frightful rapidity ? If 
we have, perhaps, never heard of a truly religious man 
«ngaged in a duel,* it is not that, with all his caution, he 
is not liable to provocations and insults, as well as other 
men ; nor that he has no quick sense of injuries, no spirit 
to repel attacks, and no courage to defend himself. He 
who bears insults is made of like passions with him who 
revenges them ; his pride longs to break out if it dared ; 
for e%en a good man, as the Prelate quoted in the last 
chapter observes, " has more to do with, this one viper, 
than with all his other corruptions," 

But, among other causes, his safety lies in this, that h© 
kas always endeavoured to keep clear of those initiatory 
offences which lead to this catastrophe ; it is because he has 
been habitually governed by principles of a directly con- 
trary tendency, and has not the lesson of forbearance to 
learn, when he is called upon to practise it : because he has 
bulged himself in those habits, and as little as may 
be in those societies which lay a man open to the conse- 
quences of which ungoverned appetites are the source ; be- 
cause he has always considered pride and passion as the 
possible seeds of murder ; an impure glance as the first ap» 
proach to that crime which is the ordinary source of duel- 
ting — the combined violation of these two commandments, 
being as closely connected, in practice, as is their position 
in the Decalogue. It is observable, that while the shifts 
and stratagems to which a man is commonly driven by il- 
licit connections, so often lead to duelling, yet that the 
charge of that crime itself, or of any other equally atro- 

* Lord Herbert of Cherbury, the first of our deistical writers, and 
tfie last hero of our ancient chivalry, with that fantastic combination 
•of devotion and gallantry which charaterized the profession of knight- 
hood, tells us, in the Memoirs of his own Life, that he strictly main- 
tained the religious observance of the Sabbath, except when called 
out to fight a duel for a point of honour, which he seemed to hav^ 
thought a paramount duty. 



284 DIFFICULT! Lis, &LG. OF THE 

cious, far more rarely provokes a challenge, than the 
charge of the lie, to which the crime has compelled him to 
resort. Can there be a more striking instance of the false 
estimate of character and virtue, than that the offence is 
not made to consist in the falsehood itself, but in the Seen 
sation of it, 

The man of mere worldly principles keeps himseT in the 
broad way, which, should events occur, and temptations 
arise to irritate him, may at any time lead to such a termi- 
nation. His habits of life, his choice of associate?, his 
systematic resolution to revenge every insult, makes his 
common path a path of danger. His pride is always ready 
primed; he carries the inflammable matter in his habit, and 
the first spark may cause an explosion ; while the man of 
principle, in addition to all the other guards before enume- 
rated, wants, indeed, but this single consideration to deter 
him from the spirit of duelling; that it is the act of all 
others which stands in the most determined opposition to 
the law of God, and the spirit of the Gospel ; that it is a 
studied, deliberate, premeditated subversion of one of the 
most imperious duties of Christianity, by making it infa- 
mous to forgive injuries. 

And even if a man be more correct in his habits, still if 
the maxims of the world, and not those of Christianity, 
govern him, he loses sight of the great principles which 
would restrain excesses in temper, as well as in conduct, 
He first loses sight of these, perhaps by negligence in pri- 
vate devotion, possibly hy a careless attendance on public 
worship. Thus freeing himself from these observances, he 
loses sight of the obligations of religion, and losing this 
strongest " muzzle of restraint/' it is the less wonder that 
a small provocation tempts him to offer bloody sacrifices to 
that fantastic but cruel idol, worldly honour. It is the less 
wonder that a neglected, even where there is not a perver- 
ted principle, should end in the murder of his friend, and 
the destruction of his own soul; for of a merely convivial 
friendship, a duel is no very uncommon termination. 



CHRISTIAN IN THE WOULD, 285 

Eut to return. — In the ordinary pursuits of life, the good 
man differs but little from others, in the keenness with 
which he embarks in enterprize, or in the diligence with 
which he prosecutes it ; but he carries it on in another 
spirit -, he is not Jess solicitous in the pursuit, but there is 
less perturbation in his solicitude; he makes no undue sac* 
rifices to attain his object. He seeks the divine blessing, 
mot that he may slacken his own exertions, but that he may 
fee directed in them, supported under them. Sanguine, 
perhaps, by nature, he yet takes into the account the pro 
labilities of disappointment : this, when it occurs, he bears 
as one, who, though Careful of the motive and mode of 

liis conduct, had put the affair into the hands of the Master 
of events. His failure does not discourage him from fresh 
Exertions, when occasions equally right present themselves* 
He is grateful for success, but not intoxicated by it. Under 
defeat he is resigned, but not desponding. He measures 
the intrinsic value of an object by asking his own mind, 
though he thiaks so highly of its importance now, what he 

- shall probably thinkof it when his ardour is cooled, and 
especially v what he shall think of it when all things shall 
he brought into judgment. This question settled, either 

•Moderates or augments the interest he takes in it. 

Knowing that whatever he proposes in the way of pub- 
ic good, is liable to be suspected of imprudence or mistaken 
sseal, he turns this exposure to suspicion to his own advan- 
tage. It leads him to examine his project more accurately 
to spy out its weak side, if it have any ; and to anticipate, 
by the operation of a well- exercised judgment, the objec- 
tions which his opponents are likely to make. Foreseeing 
Wb points which may create opposition, he guards against 
ft, either by altering his plan, if defective, or preparing to 
defend it, if sound. One of his great difficulties, and yet 
it is his only security, will be his custom of referring all 
xnatters in debate, " to the law and to the testimony " 
Thas will lead him constantly to oppose principle to ex* 



286 DIFFICULTIES, &C. OF IJIiS 

pediency. Of this incommodious integrity, he must abide 
the censure and the consequences. He will have no share 
in the crooked arts and intrigues by which some men rise 
so fast, and become so popular. He will detest craft almost 
as much as fraud, and the pitiful shifts of a narrow policy, 
as much as he will love the light and open path of truth 
and honesty. — He does not slacken in his undeviating 
strictness, though he is aware, that this is the quality which 
peculiarly exposes him to misrepresentation. Exertion, 
struggle, conflict, these are the trials for which he prepares 
himself. Thankful for tranquillity when it can be honestly* 
obtained, enjoying repose when he has fairly earned it ; he 
yet knows that this is not the world in which they are to 
be looked for with any certainty, or enjoyed with any 
continuance; and this conviction of its instability and fluc- 
tuation is one of the many arguments with which he seeks 
to arm himself against the fear of death. 

The unequal distribution of the good things of this life, 
the inferior success of men of more virtue, higher talent, 
and a better outset, than others of his acquaintance, whose 
beginning was low, and whose deserts equivocal, remind 
him that prosperity is no sare test of merit, and that the 
favour of heaven is not to be estimated by success. God, 
he recollects, has made no special promise of prosperity to 
his children. When given, it is to be esteemed no certain 
mark of his approbation ; when withdrawn, it is often in 
mercy : when withheld, it is because God has higher de- 
signs for his less prosperous servants. As to himself, the 
events of every day teach him, that he had expected more 
from human life than it had to bestow, and that his disap 
pointments arise not less from his own sanguine temper, 
than from the deceits of that world which it had overrated, 

The world, especially, we may here remark, the commer 
c4al world, particularly in these awful times, is calculated 
to teach forbearance far more than sequestered life, because 
men often suffer »o severely in their fortune and credit by 



5 



CHRISTIAN IN THE WORLD. 28~ 

J the errors or misfortunes of others. If the good man suf- 
1 fer by his own fault, he will find a fresh motive for humili- 
| ty; if D y tne ^ au ^ °f another, for patience ; if more direct- 
I: Iy from the hand of God, for submission. Whatever be the 
;| fluctuations of his fortune, his faith will gain stability, for 
i he will discern an invisible hand directing all events for 
! his ultimate good. If he is placed in a state of peculiar agi- 
! tation, God intends to lead him by it to seek his rest where 
j only it can be found. If in a state of singular difficulty, it 
| is to shew him his own weakness, and his immediate de- 
pendance on him, who gives strength to the weak. Thk 
principle admitted, will furnish new motives to watchful- 
ness and prayer, without any diminution of activity or 
spirit. 

His observations on the gradual process, by which the 
love of money monopolizes the hearts of others, teach him 
to guard his own against its encroachments. He sees that 
the first designs of men are commonly moderate. Few take 
in at one view all the length they ro afterward?. They 
look not beyond a certain eminence. On this they fix as 
the summit of their desires. But what appeared high at a 
distance sinks when approached ; is nothing when attain- 
ed; — "Alps rise on Alps;" — a further distance presents a 
further height ; this, they are sure, will bound their desires : 
this attained, they are resolved to retire anH dedicate their 
lives and their riches to the end for which, they persuade 
themselves, they have been toiling. But, with the acqui- 
sition, the desire increases ; wants grow out of riches. The 
moderate man is become insatiable. The principle thrives 
with the attainment of its object. Though hope is ex- 
changed for possession, yet the restless principle continues 
to work, and will wOrk On, unless a higher principle, by 
which he is every day less likely and less desirous to be 
governed, should arise to check it. 

Society being composed of intelligent human beings, the 
wi'fp- mart knows that soro^thmc: irrav be jr^nerallv learned 



288- BIFPieULTIES, &C OP THE 

from it, relative to the human character ; that some heat* 
fit may be reaped, even if little positive good appear in ii , 
and more does sometimes appear, than we are willing ia. 
put to profit. Lessons may be extracted from the very 
faults of men ; from the vehemence of their passions, the 
mistakes of their judgment, the blindness of their prejudice. 

The Holy Scriptures frequently make the anxious dili- 
gence of men, in the pursuit of worldly advantages, a lei- 
son which a better man would do well to improve upon ia> 
his higher pursuits. He may find in their industry a stand- 
ard, though not a model : the wisdom he learns from this 
generation, he will convert to the purposes of the childrea 
of light. The world's wise man is ever on the watch for 
advancing his projects. If he contract an acquaintance of 
importance, his first thought is, how he may make the most of 
him; the Christian is equally careful to turn the acquisition 
of a pious friend to his own account, but with a higher view 

The mind, on the watch for improvement, will improve 
by the very errors of others. Virtue, our divine Master 
has taught us, may take some profitable lessons from vice. 
The activity of the fraudful steward may stimulate the neg- 
ligent Christian. From the perseverance of the malignant 
in their patient prosecution of revenge, he may leara forti- 
tude under discouragements, and resolution under difficul- 
ties. Injuries may teach him the value of justice, may 
set him upon investigating its principle, and guarding 
against lis violation. The wiliness of the designing may 
keep his understanding on the alert, and confirm the pru- 
dence it has excited. Temptations from without strengthen 
his powers of resistance ; his own faults shew him his ows 
weakness, as it is foreign aggression which forms heroes, 
snd domestic opposition which makes statesmen. 

His thirst for human applause will be abated, when b& 
» Serves in tho;e around him, the unexpected attainment 
of popularity so soon followed by its unmerited loss. Whea 
h$ behoids the rapid transfer of power, it will, more ihm 



CHRISTIAN IN THE WORLD. 28$ 

wiiole tomes of philosophy, shew him that " favour is de- 
ceitful." He will moderate his desires of great riches, 
when he sees by what sacrifices they are sometimes ob- 
tained, and to what temptations the possession Jeads. H* 
will be less likely to repine that others are reaching th# 
summit of ambition, whether they achieve it by talents 
which he does not possess, or attain it by steps which he 
would not chuse to climb, or maintain it by concessions 
which he would not care to make. The pangs of party 
with which he sees some of his friends convulsed, and t}i?. 
turbulent anxiety with which they watch the prognostics 
of its rise and fall, keep him sober without making him in- 
different. He preserves his temper with his attachments, 
and his integrity with his preferences, because he is 
habitually watching how he may serve the state, and 
not how, by increasing her perplexities, he may advance 
himself. 

The use he thus makes of the world will not carry him 
to the length of entangling himself in its snares. Though 
he maintains a necessary intercourse with men of opposite 
character, he will not push that intercourse further than 
occasion requires. He will transact business with them 
with frankness and civility, but he will not follow them to 
any objectionable lengths. He is aware, that though a wise 
man will never chuse an infected atmosphere, yet " He 
who fixes our lot in life" will protect him in it in the way 
of duty, and will furnish an antidote to the contagion. A. 
courageous piety doubles its caution when exposed to an 
impure air, but a prudent piety will never voluntarily 
plunge into it. It will never forget, that if the corrup- 
tions of the world are so dangerous, they are rendered m 
by those of our own heart's, since we carry about us a con- 
stitution disposed to infection. The true Christian will 
make a conscience of letting it appear, that he differs in 
very important points from many of those with whom busi- 
tfess or society brings them into contact; lest, by the fa- 



290 DIFFICULTIES, SiC. OF THE 

eiiity and kindness of his general behaviour, they»shouid be 
led into an error as to his principles. For worldly men^ 
having been accustomed to connect narrowness, reserve, 
and gloom, with serious piety, they might infer from his 
pleasant deportmentand frank address, that his principles 
were as lax as his manners are disengaged. 

He will, therefore, be careful, not unnecessarily to alie- 
nate them by any thing forbidding in his exterior ; he will 
cheerfully fall in with any plan of theirs consistent .withr 
his own principles ; and more especially, should it be any 
plan of benevolence and general utility, and one more 
promising than his own, he will never feel backward to 
promote it, through the mean fear of transferring the 
popularity of the measure to another. Yet he acts, never- 
theless, as knowing there is no humility in a man's taking 
a false measure of his own understanding, and therefore 
does not give up his independence of mind, when the supe- 
riority of the scheme of the other does not cany convic- 
tion to his judgment. He will first clear his motive, and, 
next, his prudence in the measure, and then be as prompt 
in action as those who rush into it without deliberation or 
principle. 

He keeps his ultimate end in view, even in the most 
ordinary concerns, and on occasions which to others may 
not seem likely to promote it. He knows that good breed- 
ing will give currency to good sense; that good sense 
adds credit to virtue, and even helps to strip religion of its 
tendency to displease. By his exactness in performing 
the common duties of life more accurately than other men, 
he may lead them to look from the action up to the prin- 
ciple which produced it; and when they see the advanta- 
ges arising from such carefulness of conduct, they may be 
induced to examine into the reasons; and from inquiring, 
to adopting, is not always a remote step. He may thus 
lead them into an insensible imitation, without the vain 
idea of presenting himself as a model ; for he wishes them 



CHRISTIAN IN THE TORLB. S91 

to admire*, not him, but the source from which he draws 
both what he believe? and what he is. 

While he suggests hints for their benefit, he is willing 
they should think the suggestion their own ; that they owe 
it to reflection, and not to instruction. like the great 
Athenian philosopher, he does net so much aim to teach 
wisdom to others as to put them in the way of finding it 
out for themselves. His piety does not lessen his urbanity, 
even towards those, who are obviously deficient in some 
points, which he deems of high importance If they are 
useful members of the great body of society, he is the first 
to commend their activity, to acknowledge their amiable 
qualities, to do justice to their speeches or writings, while 
they are disconnected with danscerous or doubtful objects; 
On general subjects he never labours to discredit their 
opinions, unless they obviously stand in the way of some- 
thing of more worth. But all these cheerfully allowed 
•merits will never make him lose sight of any grand defi- 
ciency in the principle, of any thing erroneous in the ten- 
dency. 

Of his own religion he neither makes a parade nor a 
secret j he is of opinion that to avow his sentiments, pre- 
vents mistakes, saves trouble, obviates conjectures, and 
maintains independence. He acknowledges them with 
modesty, and defends them with firmness. On other oc- 
casions, instead of shutting himself up in a close and sul- 
len reserve, because others do not agree with him in the 
great cause which lies nearest his heart, he is glad that the 
general diffusion of knowledge has so multiplied the points 
at which well-educated men can have access to the minds 
of each other; points at which improvements in taste and 
icience may be reciprocally communicated, the tone of con- 
versation raised, and society rendered considerably useful, 
and sometimes in a high degree profitable. 

But notwithstanding the clearness of his own spirit, and 
Mmationi of an enlightened conscience, he yet carries 



292 DIFFICULTIES &C. OF THE 

about with him such a modest sense of his owd liablenes* 
to what is wrong, as keeps up in his mind the idea that the 
error may possibly be on his side. This feeling, though 
it never makes him adopt through weakness the opinion of 
another, makes him always humble in the defence of his 
own. He opposes what is obviously bad with an earnest 
but sober zeal, a fervid but unboisterous warmth, a vigor- 
ous but calm perseverance. 

He will not hunt for popularity ; he knows that this is 
one of the common dangers from which even good men are 
not exempt ; for after all, the mere good men of the world 
do not monopolize all credit. Highly principled and pious 
men form a powerful and increasing minority, which, by 
concord, firmness, and prudence, often makes no inconsi* 
derable figure. When viewed collectively, 

* Bright as a sun the sacred city shines. n 

Each individual, however, according as he contributes or 
may fancy he contributes to the brightness, is in danger of 
priding himself on the general effect. And many a weak 
or designing man, placing himself under the broad shelter 
of what he delights to call tlte religious world, limits his 
seal to the credit of being accounted a member, instead of 
extending it to the arduous duties it imposes, and while he 
superciliously decries many a worthy person, who, without 
the pretension, performs the functions, he is as full of the 
world as the world is of itself Popularity thus sought 
after and obtained, whether within or without the pale, 
even of a religious community, is of a dangerous tendency, 
and a truly Christian mind will alike tremble to bestow or 
receive the praise. 

But if the Christian character we have been faintly at- 
tempting to sketch, possess a commanding station, either 
in fortune, rank, or talent, especially if he combine them ; 
his character, without any assumption of his own, without 
any affectation of superiority, will, by its own weight, its 



CHRISTIAN IN THE WORLD. 293 

awn attraction, above all, by its consistency, be a sort of 
rallying point, round which the well disposed, the timid, 
and the young, will resort to obtain a sanction, and to ♦for- 
tify their principles. For, if it is not the prevailing prin- 
ciple, there is yet much more piety in the world, than the 
pious themselves are willing to allow. If so strange a 
phrase may be allowed, we should almost suspect that, in 
a certain class, there is more good hypocrisy than bad : 
more who conceal their piety, than w T ho make a display of 
it. Many, who are secretly and sincerely religious, want 
courage to avow their sentiments, want resolution to act 
up to them, either because the popular tide runs another 
way, or because they dread the imputation of singularity, 
and are afraid of raising a portentous cry against themselve?. 
The good man respects the world's opinion, without 
making it the leading motive of his conduct He never 
provokes hostility by any arrogant intimation that he does 
not care what people think of him, a conduct not more 
offensive to others, than indicative of a self-sufficient spirit. 
He is careful to avoid a particular cut. He will not be 
pointed at for any trifling peculiarity. He fences in, not 
only his ordinary, but his best actions, with prudence, well 
knowing how much the manner may expose the matter to 
misrepresentation. He does this not merely for his own 
credit, but because, to a certain degree, with his reputation 
are involved the good of others and the honour of religion. 
He endeavours, as far as he can honestly do it, to remove 
prejudices, which an imprudent piety rather glories in aug- 
menting, and thus widens the separation between the two 
classes of characters. Whereas, that which is intrinsically 
good should be always outwardly amiable. He, therefore, 
will not make his departure from the order which general 
usage has established, observable in any of the harmless 
and accredited modes of life. He will -not voluntarily 
augment thai wonder which his departure from the less 
innocent fashions of the world must excite, The wonder 



I 



■%94i DIFFICULTIES &C. OF THE 



will be sufficiently great, why, in stronger cases, he shoui 
subject himself to a discipline different from theirs, and they 
will ask where is the use of aiming to be better than those 
whom they call good ? 

By the cheerful alacrity with which he performs and 
receives all acts of kindness, he gives the best answer to 
JLord Shaftesbury's character of Christianity, " that it is 
so taken up with the care of our future happiness, as to 
throw away all the present ;" a sneer whieh is about as 
true as the other sarcasms of this eloquent but superficial 
reasoner ; for if religion does call for some sacrifices of 
pleasure and of profit,yet every part of its practice increases 
our real happiness, by the augmentation of our own virtue, 
as much as it advances that of others ; by its promotion of 
tindness, beneficence, good will, and good order. 

He not only refuses his time and Ins example to scenes 
of luxury and dissipation ; his superfluous wealth has also 
a higher destination ; he must not, however, be expected 
xo aim at a primitive frugality, many of the superfluities 
of life having, in some measure, become classed among its 
necessaries. The spirit of a Ghristion can never be a penu- 
rious spirit. His habits of living will be proportioned to 
iiis rank and fortune , taking, however, the average ex- 
penditure of many of the more discreet. He will never, 
even on religious grounds, by the example of parsimony, 
furnish the sordid with a pretence for accumulation. 

He has another powerful motive for avoiding extrava- 
gance. He knows that a well-regulated economy is the 
only infallible source of independence. He will not, there- 
ibre, lavish in idle splendour a fortune, that he may be 
driven to recruit by sacrifices, which, by robbing him of 
iris freedom, will diminish his virtue. He thinks that what 
Tacitus has said of a public exchequer is not less true of a 
private purse, that what is exhausted by profligacy, must 
be repaired by rapacity. This incommodious rectitude 
will exj>ose lam to the dislike of legs correct retn ; for, 



>u!d 
hey 



CHRISTIAN IN THE W0RL1>. .IS'JO 

after all that has been urged against the adoption of reli- 
gious doctrines, it is not so much the strictness of opinion, 
as of practice, which renders a man obnoxious. He may 
be of any religion he pleases, provided he will live like 
those who have none. If he be convivial and accom- 
modating, they will not eare if he worship Brama and 
Veeshnoo; though they would not perhaps forgive his 
professing the Hindoo faith, if it involved the necessity of 
their dining with him upon rice ; nor would he be pardon- 
ed for embracing the doctrines of the Arabian Prophet 
while the Koran continues to prohibit the use of wine. 

Though pleasure is not the leading object of his pursuit, 
he yet finds more than those, who spend their lives in pur- 
suit of nothing else. He finds the range of innocent and 
elegant enjoyment sufficiently ample and attractive, with- 
out being driven for a resource, to the disqualifying gross- 
ness of sensuality, or the relaxing allurements of dissipation* 
The fine arts, in a?l their lovely and engaging forms of 
beauty, the ever new delights of literature, whether wooed 
in its lighter graces, or sought in its more substantial at- 
tractions, the exchange 

From grave to gay, from lively to severe, 

shed sweet, and varied, and exhaustless charms on his lei- 
sure hours, and send him back with renewed freshness, 
added vigour, and increased animation to his necessary 
employments. 

Though the strictly pious man is more exposed to temp- 
tation in the world than in retirement, yet he finds in it 
reasons which stimulate him to more circumspection. He 
is aware that he lies more open to observation, and of 
course to censure. As he is more observed by others, he 
more carefully observes himself. He watches his own faults 
with the same vigilance with which worldly men watch 
the faults of others, and for the same reason, that he may 
turn them to his own profit; the more he is surrounded 



2$6 DIFFICULTIES &C. OF THE 

with temptations, the more he is driven to feel his want of 
divine protection. If his talents or exertions are flattered, 
he fliesmore earnestly to ids direction./' from whom Cometh 
every good and perfect eift." VV e appeal to the pious reader, 
whether he does not frequently feel more circumspect and 
less confident in society f om which he fears deterioration, 
than in that on which he depends for improvement ; — 
whether he does not feel a sort of perilous security in com- 
pany, in which an expansion of heart lessens his self-dis- 
trust ; and whether he has never, by leaning on the friend, 
looked less to Him M without whom nothing is strong, noth- 
ing is holy." 

If in debate he is sometimes accused of shewing too much 
wramth in defence of religion, while its opponent, by his 
superior calmness, establishes his own character for mode- 
ration and good temper, it is because it costs the latter little 
to manifest a coolness which is the natural effect of indiffe - 
rence. The man who plays for nothing needs not be 
moved whatever turn the game may take ; while he, whose 
dearest interests are at stake, will not easily hide the emo- 
tion which he cannot but feel. when King Solomon 
decreed, as a test of affection, that the living child should 
be cut in pieces, the pretended mother calmly submitted to 
the decision. She had nothing to lose. Her hope was 
dead. She would enjoy seeing her competitor reduced to 
her own desolate state ; while the real mother, who had a 
vital interest in the object to be sacrificed, was tortured at 
the proposal. The genuineness of the feeling betrayed the 
reality of the relation . 

The Christian, circumstanced as we have described him, 
hardly Glares wish for an uninterrupted smooth and prosper- 
ous course ; for, though he endeavours to sit loose to the 
world, every severe disappointment or privation makes him 
feel that ho still clings too fondly to it ; every trial and 
every loss, therefore, make him relax something of the 
firmness of his grasp. 

Is your Christian, then ; perfect, you will perhaps ask ? 



CHRISTIAN IN THE WORLD. 297 

Ask himself. With deep and sincere self-abasement he 
will answer in the negative. He will not only confess 
more failings than even his accusers ascribe to him, but he 
will own what they do not always charge him with— sins, 
He will acknowledge that there is no natural difference 
between himself and his censurer, but that, through divine 
grace, the one prays and struggles against those corrup- 
tions, the very existence of which the other does not 
suspect. 

The peace of the confirmed Christian lies not at the 
mercy ef events. As on the agitated ocean, storms and 
tempests never divert the faithful needle from its invariable 
object, so the distractions of the world shake not his con- 
fidence in Him who governs it. He remembers that these 
winds and waves are still bearing him onward to his haven, 
while, on the stormy passage, they enable him to exhibit a 
trying but a constant evidence that God may be honoured 
in all, even in the most unpromising, situations. Even in 
the worst condition, a real Christian is sure of the presence 
of his Maker, not only of his essential presence, which he 
has in common with all, but the presence of his grace ; not 
only the sense of his being, but the support of his promise. 
God never appoints his servants to a difficult station, but 
he gives them the assurance of assistance in it, and of sup- 
port under it. The solemn injunction, " Be strong and 
work," thrice repeated by the prophet, to reprove the 
dilatory builders of the second temple, was effectually en- 
forced by the animating promise which followed it ; I will 
be with you. When the Disciples were sent forth by their 
divine Master to the grandest, but most perilous task, to 
which ambassadors where ever appointed, they must have 
sunk under the conflicts which awaited, the dangers which 
threatened, and the deaths which met them ; but the single 
promise I will be with you, was to them strength, and light, 
and life. The Christian militant, though called to a milder 
warfare has the same reiterated assurance ; / ivill be with 
y&u always even ft the end of the world* 



( 298 ) 
CHAP. XXV 

CANDIDUS. 

Candidus is a genuine son of the Reformation ; but beint, 
a layman, he does not think it necessary to define his faith 
so constantly as some others do, by an incessant reference 
to the Liturgy, Articles and Homilies ; though this refe- 
rence would accurately express his sentiments: but, he 
observes, that it is become a kind of party standard equally 
erected by each side in intended opposition to the other, so 
that the equivocal ensign would not determine to which he 
belongs. He gives, however, the most indisputable proof 
of his zeal for these formularies, by the invariable confor- 
mity of his life and language to their principles. 

From the warmth of his feelings, and the strength of his 
attachment to the church which fostered him, Candidus 
was once in no little danger of becoming a vehement party- 
man ; he was, however, cured by a certain reluctance he 
found in his heart to undertake to hate half the world, 
which he found must he a necessary consequence. Observa- 
tion soon taught him, that Christians would be far m- re 
likely to escape the attacks of unbelievers, if they could be- 
brought to agree among themselves ; but he saw with re- 
gret, that religion, instead of being considered as a com- 
mon cause, was split into factions, so that the general inte- 
rest was neglected, not to say, in some instances, nearly 
betrayed. And while the Tege subjects of the same sove- 
reign are carrying on civil war for petty object* and incon- 
siderable spGts of ground, that strength which should have 
been concentrated for the general defence, is sDent in mu- 
tual skirmishes, and mischievous though unimportant hos- 
tilities ; and that veneration of course forfeited, with which 
even the acknowledged enemy would have been compelled 
to behold an united Church* 



candidus. 2yy 

Candidus is, however, firm in his attachments, though 
aot exacting in his requisitions . catholic, but not latitude 
narian ; tolerant, not from indifference, but principle. He 
contemplates, with admiration, the venerable fabric under 
whose shelter he is protected. He adheres to it, not so 
much from habit as affection. His adherence is the effect 
of conviction, otherwise his tenacity might be prejudice, 
It is founded in education, strengthened by reflection and 
confirmed by experience- But though he contemplates 
our ecclesiastical institutions with filial reverence himself, 
he allows for the effect of education, habit and conscience 
in others, who do not view them with his eyes. He is 
sorry for those who refuse to enter into her portal ; he is 
more sorry for those who depart out of it, but far more 
concerned is he, for those who remain within her pale, with 
a temp w hostile to her interests, with principles foreign to 
her genius, with a conduct unsanctified by her spirit. 

Like a true lover, he delights not to expatiate on any 
imperfection she may have ; but he will not, like an absurd 
lover, insist on any imperfection as an excellence. Per- 
suaded that a mole or a pimple is no material diminution 
of beauty, he will no more magnify them into a deformity 
than he will deny their existence. His mind is so occupi- 
ed with essential points, and so satisfied with their substan- 
tial worth, that he relinquishes whatever is of no vital im- 
portance to those microscopic eyes, which, being able to 
take in only the diminutive, value themselves on the detec* 
tion of specks, as a discovery of their own, though keener 
eyes had discerned them long before, but slighted them as 
insignificant. Satisfied that it is the best of all the church- 
es which exist, he never troubles himself to inquire if it is 
the best that is possible. In the church of England he is 
contented with excellence, and is satisfied to wait for per- 
fection till he is admitted a member of the Church trium- 
phant. , 

Candidus made early the discovery of a secret which 



300 CANBIDUS, 

Charles the Fifth did not discover, till by his igftdranee of 
it, he had thinned the human race — the incurable diversity 
of human opinions. This irremediable difference he turn- 
ed to its only practical purpose, not the vain endeavour ta 
convince others, but the less hopeless ahn of improving his 
own forbearance. He even doubted whether this disa- 
greement, though a misfortune in the aggregate, was not 
even more calculated to promote individual piety, than an 
uniformity which would not have called this feeling into 
exercise. 

The more he examines Scripture (and he is habitually 
examining it), the more he is persuaded that the principles 
of his church are identical with the word of God ; while 
he is enabled, by the same examination, to drink more 
deeply into that spirit of love, which warms his heart with 
kindness towards every conscientious Christian, who on 
some points thinks differently. His attachment is definite, 
but his charity knows no limits. 

He observes that the loudest clamour for the Establish- 
ment is not always raised by the most pious, nor the most 
affectionate of her disciples ; he therefore does not rejoice 
when he sees her honoured name hoisted as a political sig- 
nal by those, who are careless of her spiritual prosperity ; 
and he sometimes finds no inconsiderable difference between 
those who toast her, and those who study to promote her 
best interests ; though the , former obtain the reputation, 
which the others are only solicitous to deserve. He evinces 
his own affection by his zeal in defending her cause when 
attacked, by his prudence in never causelessly provoking 
the attack. Anxious that the walls of the sacred temple 
should be impregnable, he is still more anxious that the 
fires of her altars should burn with undecaying brightness ; 
and that while her guardians are properly watching over 
the security of the one, the flame of the other be not ex- 
tinguished. He gives the most unequivocal proof that he 
attends faithfully to her doctrines, by never separating 



£ANDIDUS- 301 

them from her precepts, while he endeavours to incorporate 
both into his practice; adorning them hy his example, re- 
commending them in his writings, and illustrating them m 
his conversation. 

If he produce little sensation among the intemperate, 
who exhibit their fidelity to the church by always repre- 
senting her as on the very verge of destruction ; yet he 
would, were the danger present, go greater lengths in he;; 
defence than some of her more declamatory champions ; 
nay he does more now to avert her ruin, than they who 
seem to make her safety depend on their clamour, If he Ig 
not perpetually predicting open war, he is watchful against 
the hollow security of a false peace. The most difficult 
but not the least important part of his care, is not more to 
vindicate her against avowed enemies, than against friends 
at once vociferous and supine. 

Candidus, though a good lover, is a bad hater, and it te 
this defect of hatred, which with a certain class, brings h& 
love into suspicion. He has observed some who evince 
their attachment by their virulence against what they die- 
approve, rather than by cultivating, in support of what 5s 
right, that spirit which is " first pure, then peaceable," and 
which, if it be not peaceable, is not pure. These are more 
remarkable for their dread of external evils, than their set 
licitude for the promotion of internal piety. Their religion 
consists rather in repulsion than attraction. On the other 
hand, it must be observed, that Candidus has none of thas 
pliancy, which, in this relaxed age, obtains in a different; 
quarter, the praise of liberality from those who, thinking 
one religion about as good as another, are of course tolerant 
of any, because indifferent to all. 

He has learned from the errors of two opposite parties, 
that fanaticism teaches men to despise religion, and bigot r, 
to hate it. He knows that his candour is esteemed laxity 
by the prejudiced, and his firmness intolerance by the h 
religious. There K however, no ambiguity in h> tfio<fct«> 



SQ2 CANDtmjS. 

tion • and he never, for the sake of popularity with eithe; 
party, leaves it doubtful on what ground he takes his stand. 
Nor does he ever renounce a right principle, because one 
party abuses it, or another denies its existence ; and while 
he deprecates the assumption of names by impostors, it 
4oes not alter his opinion of the things they originally 
signified ; for instance, he does not think patriotism is a ro- 
mance, nor disinterestedness a chimera, nor fervent piety 
a delusion, nor charity unorthodox, nor a saint necessarily 
a hypocrite. 

He ohserves among his acquaintance, that there are some 
who sedulously endeavour to fix the brand of fanaticism on 
certain doctrines, which both the Bible and the Church 
not only recognize, but consider as fundamental, as the 
key-stone of the sacred arch on the strength of which our 
whole superstructure rests. These doctrines, while they 
eject them from their own creed, they confound, in the 
creeo* of others, with certain dangerous opinions, with 
which they are by no means necessarily connected, though 
they uniformly charge those who adopt the one class with 
invariably maintaining the other. It is in vain that the 
persons so charged disavow the opinions ; it is to no pur- 
pose that they only desire to be allowed to know what 
they hold, and what they reject. 

Candidus, however, undaunted by clamour, and unmoved 
by insinuation, tenaciously maintains the doctrine of human 
apostacy, of salvation by grace through faith, and of the 
influence of the Holy Spirit in renovating the heart. In 
her avowal of maas corruption, he insists that the church 
of England is most emphatical. k < Read," said he one day, 
in earnest conversation with one whom he could scarcely 
consider but as a virtual Socinian within the pale of the 
Establishment, " read the pointed and explicit confession 
with which her service open?;." He holds the same lan- 
guage with some others to whom the Church is a higher 
authority than tho Bible, in regard to a subject next In 



CAND1DUS. 303 

connexion with that of human weakness, namely the agen- 
cy of the Divine Spirit : he remarks that both these docs*, 
trines are recognized in every prayer and in every office ; 
that they are especially acknowledged in the Collects^ 
those brief but beautiful effusions of devotion, which, for 
strength of expression, condensation of the sense, and neat- 
ness of composition, not only surpass every thing in the 
age in which they were composed, but remain unrivalled 
in the similar addresses of our own time, whose best praise 
it is, that, in this period of fine writing, our petitionary 
forms are accounted more or less excellent, as they ap- 
proach nearer, or recede farther from, those models. Read 
their self-abasing acknowledgments il Thou, God, who 
seest that we put not our trust in any thing that we do"— 
"' O God, forasmuch as without Thee we are not able to 
please Thee" — " Because the frailty of man without Thee 
cannot but fall" — " Grant that we, who cannot do any 
thing that is good without Thee, may, by Thee, be ena- 
bled to live according to thy will'V-" Cleanse the thoughts 
of our hearts by the inspiration of Thy holy spirit" — " Be- 
cause through the weakness of our mortal nature ; we can 
do no gpod thing without Thee, grant us the help of Thy 
grace." 

But there would be no end of enumeration. The same 
doctrines run through and are incorporated with, the 
whole Liturgy. To get rid of them, mere omissions would 
be altogether insufficient, we must tear up the whole web, 
we must waave another, we must weave it too with ne\v 
materials ; for the old threads would retain the colour of 
the old doctrines, and communicate the original character 
to the new piece ; it is not only the old form that must be 
new cast, but new principles that must be infused, a new 
train of sentiments that must be adopted, in short a new- 
religion that must be substituted. 

Candidus observes, that it is a proof hoW different the 
ffiews of some of our contemporaries are on this 'subject 



304 CANDIDUS. 

from those of the primitive church, that while, with gone 
of the former, divine influence is a theme of derision rather 
than of reverence ; in the other, whatever was pure and 
holy, was ascribed to its operation. At the same time, be- 
ing a diligent reader of ecclesiastical history, as well as an 
accurate observer of what passes before his eyes, he is aware 
"what abuses have been and are still practised, and what de- 
ceits carried on, under pretence of being the work of the 
spirit. The importance of the doctrine accounts for the 
imitations and counterfeits to which it is exposed ; and he 
knows that the abuse of a thing is always pernicious in 
proportion to its excellence. The Old and New Testa- 
ment abound with instances. To those of the former St. 
Peter reverts, to guard his converts from those of the lat- 
ter,—" There were false prophets among the people, even 
*as there shall fee false teachers among you." Another 
Apostle warns his hearers against the mischiefs which he 
liimself had seen produced by these impious pretenders, by 
instructing them to " try the spirits, whether they be of 
God." Hence Candidus advises, with an able divine*, to 
try the spirits ourselves, not by putting them upon super- 
natural work, but to try them by a more infallible rule — 
foy the doctrine they teach, that is, by its invariable con- 
formity with Scripture. He thinks the same rule and the 
earne necessity subsist now, in as full force, as when the in- 
junction was given. 

Candidus is aware that it is necessary, not only to be ac- 
curate in the use of his own terms, but to be on his guard 
-against being misled by the inaccuracy of the terms em- 
ployed by others. Ke therefore takes care to ascertain the 
character and temper of the man by whom any ambiguous 
term is used, as well as of him to whom the term is applied ; 
without this caution he could not decide on the justness of 
the application. Even the founder of the Epicurean sect 
cauld say, a man cannot live happily without living wisely. 

* Dr. .Owen* 



CANDIDUS. 305 

Now, though every man, whatever be his principles, must 
assent to this truth as a general proposition, yet the phrase, 
" living wisely," conveyed a very different idea, in the 
school of an atheistical philosopher, to what it would have • 
conveyed in the follower of Zeno, and more especially in 
the disciple of Christ. Enthusiasm is one of these ambigu- 
ous terms. 

Candidus is prudent on a principle which is sometimes 
denied. He -considers that prudence is, in an ardent cha- 
racter, more likely to be an effect of grace than even zeal ; 
because in the exercise of zeal he is indulging his natural 
temper, whereas, in the other case he is subduing it ; and 
"he has found that to resist a propensity is generally more 
the effect of principle than to gratify it. Hence, he infers 
that if resistance be a work of grace, the sluggish and the 
cold hearted may judge of their own conquest over nature 
"by a superinduced zeal, while he presumes he is conquering 
his own vehemence by a superinduced prudence ; thus the 
same truth is illustrated by directly opposite instances. 

Against enthusiasm, therefore, it is unnecessary to cau- 
lion the discreet and enlightened Candidus. He avoids it 
as naturally as a wise man avoids folly, as a sober man 
shuns extravagance. But then it is the thing itself, and 
not what bigots call so; it is the real entity, and not the 
spectre, against which he is on his guard ; for, not being 
superstitious, he is not terrified by phantoms and goblins. 
He laments when he encounters a real enthusiast, because 
he knows that, even if honest, he is pernicious. But though 
he thinks him highly blamable, he does not think him 
worse " than murderers of fathers, and murderers of mo- 
thers." He thinks enthusiasm mischievous, but he does 
not think it w r orse than impiety, worse than intemperance, 
worse than infidelity, worse than intolerance, worse than 
any other flagitious vice ; especially he does not think it 
worse than all the other vices put together. Yejt this he 
might be almost tempted to believe was the case, when he 
cc2 



«0p 9 QAKDIDlf, 

sees other vices comparatively left to enjoy themselves, and 
this doughty enormity, imaginary as well as real, singly 
attacked with the combined force of all the weapons which 
ought to be in turn applied to the whole family of sin. As 
he is very skilful in symptoms, he takes care to ascertain 
e rident marks of the mania, palpable diagnosticks of the 
rabid bite, before he pronounces on the disease, or proceeds 
to secure himself from the contagion. 

By his well-exercised judgment, he can generally dis- 
cover the different causes of the actual distemper. He can 
distinguish whether the patient is sick of a deluded imagina- 
tion, or from having been in contract with the infected ; 
whether he is mismanaged by artful, or injured by ignor- 
ant prescribers ; whether the malady lies in the weakness 
of his natural powers, the agitation of his animal spirits, 
or the vanity of his mind — whether it be an inflammation 
on the brain, or a tumour in the heart — some or all of 
these appearances commonly indicating the fanatical fever, 
In either case, he heartily subscribes to the reality and 
danger of the distemper, but even then he does not posi- 
tively pronounce that the weak are wicked, or the disor- 
dered counterfeits. 

But if, as is not -seldom the case, he finds the appella-. 
uon conferred only because the objects of it are deeply 
sensible of the unspeakable importance of religion, and 
the infinite value of eternal things — because they are no 
more afraid of feeling than of understanding the great 
truths of Christianity — because they think their souls are 
a ot a property to be complimented away through fear : if 
lie rind, that with all their warmth they are rational, with 
ail their zeal they are humble, with all their energy they 
are consistent, with all their spirituality they are sober ; 
\f they Obey the precepts of the Gospel as faithfully as 
they believe its doctrines — if their religion do not lie 
snore in profession than in performance — if they give a 
striking evidence of their love of God, by their tenderness 



CANDIDUS. SU? 

to their fellow-creatures — if they are as liberal to their 
bodily wants, as those are, who forget to take their souls 
into the account — if their piety appear as much in their 
practice as in their discourse, and their prudence keep pace 
with their earnestness, then he will not be forward to 
impute to them, as the unpardonable sin, those animated 
sentiments which are to themselves " peace and joy in 
believing," and to others benignity, philanthropy, and 
kindness. 

And as he does not call well-directed zeal fanaticism, 
nor generous ardour delirium, so he does not rank those 
who believe in the omnipotence of divine grace among 
the enemies to virtuous action ; nor does he suspect that 
the advocates for strenuous exertion are sworn foes to 
faith. Nor does he ever disavow a doctrine, which he 
has adopted on conviction, because it may happen to be 
associated in the mind of another man, with other doctrines 
which he himself cannot adopt. And as he knows some- 
thing of the internal constitution of the human heart and 
the nature of religious affections, he distinguishes between 
the sanguine temper of youth, between that warmth which, 
in a rightiy-tumed mind, tune will cool, and experience 
temper, and which will retain no more than a due degree 
of spirit, when its first ettervescence has subsided ; he 
distinguishes this spirit from that blind zeal and headlong 
violence, which, as they are a part of no religion, so they 
are a discredit to any. 

He has observed, that the reason why we see such mis- 
shapen representations of religion pet up for the finger of 
reproach or ridicule to point at, is, that the reviler has 
not been looking out (or truth; he has not taken his 
draught, we will not say from tike highest model, but from 
the fair average of serious Christians ; but he has taken it 
from the lowest specimen of what he has seen, and even 
more commonly from the distorted report of others. He 
was looking out for a! -.surdity, and whore it is studiously 



333 CANDIDA . 

sought, it will not be difficult to find ; and, if not foun^ 
it will be easily imagined. This caricature he produces as 
the representative of the whole body; taking care, how- 
ever, to preserve in his portrait just resemblance enough 
io shew a feature or two of the real face, that the disgust- 
ing and exaggerated physiognomy may not prevent its 
being recognized. If no glimpse of likeness could be 
traced, it would not answer the end ; it would answer it 
still less, if the prevailing character of the piece were not 
deformity. 

Candidus is persuaded that, of every combination of 
wickedness with folly which Satan has devised, hypocrisy 
is the greatest, as being the most generally unprofitable. 
The hypocrite is sure of being the abhorrence of both sides 
cf the question. Where kis duplicity is not suspected, the 
world hates him for the appearance qf piety ; God, who 
knows the heart, hates him for the abuse and the affecta- 
tion of it. But, though Candidus deprecates hypocrisy, 
he is cautious of suspecting it on light grounds, still more of 
charging it home without proof. As he is not omniscient, 
he cannot be quite cure that any man who appears more 
than usually pious is a hypocrite, nor does he so denomi- 
nate him on that single ground. As he cannot scrutinize 
his heart, he judges him by bisections, and leaves him to 
settle his motives with his Maker. 

On the whole, if he meet with a man, the consistency of 
whose life gives stronger evidence of the reality and depth 
of his religion than other men, he is reluctant in suspecting 
him either of hypocrisy or enthusiasm. So far from it, he 
will find his own faith strengthened, his own victory over 
the world confirmed, his own indifference to human ap- 
plause increased, by such a living exemplification of the 
truth of Christianity, and calmly leave it to the inconsider- 
ate, the incompetent, and the malevolent, to stigmatize the 
character which he reveres. 

They who, when they observe eminent piety and setfj 



CANDIDUS. $09 

much above low water-mark, insinuate that such symp torn s 
in the more animated Christian prove his tendency to be a 
separatist, pay a very wretched compliment to the Esta- 
blished Church. Is it not implying, that her service is not 
sufficiently high and enlarged to satisfy an energetic spirit; 
that she does not possess attractions to engage, and mate- 
rials to fill, and spirit to warm a devout mind, but that a 
superior degree of earnestness will be in danger of driving 
its possessor to stray without her pale in search of richer 
pastures ? Is it not virtually saying one of two things, either 
that a fervent piety is bad, or that the church is not good. 

With Candidus, this is so far from being the case, he is 
so little " given to change," that he rejoices in belonging 
to a church of whose formularies we have already seen 
how much he had to say in commendation. In these stand- 
ards he rejoices to see Truth, as it were, pinned down, 
hedged in, and, as far as is possible, in this mutable world, 
preserved and perpetuated. Her significant and spiritual 
ordinances, and the large infusion of Scripture in her Offi- 
ces and Liturgy, secure her from the fluctuations of human 
opinion so that, if ever the principles of any of her minis- 
ters should degenerate, her service would be protected 
from the vicissitude. No sentiments but tjiose of her pre- 
scribed ritual can ever find their way into the desk, and 
the desk will always be a safe and permanent standard for 
the pulpit itself, as well as a test by which others may as- 
certain its purity. 

He values her government for the same reason for which 
he values her Liturgy, because it gives a definite bound to 
the inclosure, never forgetting that the fruit inclosed is of 
deeper importance than the fence which incloses. He al- 
ways remembers, however, that, at no very remote period, 
when the hedge was broken down, disorder and misrule 
overspread the fair vineyard. 

Among other doctrines, he is an accurate studier of the 
doctrine of proportions, in whatever regards the ecclesias^ 



310 CANBIDGS. 

deal institution. Though he cordially approves her fornix 
and discipline, though he believes they are not only essen- 
tial to her dignity, but necessary to her existence, yet he 
discriminates between what is subordinate and what is su- 
preme. If the one is the body, the other is the soul. It is 
to her strenuously maintaining the doctrines of the New 
Testament, that he looks for her preservation. This is her 
Palladium. Nor does it more resemble the fabled statue 
of Ilium, because, like that, it fell from heaven to earth* 
than in its having dropped down while the Prhice was 
building the citadel. 

If he adopt the Liturgy for his model, it is because he 
perceives how completely she has adopted the Bible for 
hers, in never giving undue prominence to one doctrine to 
the disparagement of the rest , like her, he appreciates and 
settles them according to their due degrees of importance.. 

Among his many reasons for venerating the Church of 
England, the principal is, that she is an integral and dis- 
tinguished portion of the Church of Christ. In the speci- 
fic, he never loses sight of the generic character ; as a 
Churchman, he is first a Christian, and a Protestant. The 
ramification, so far from separating him from the root ? 
unites him more closely to it. If he bear much fruit, it is 
because he is inserted into the true vine. Though quick- 
sighted to what he conceives to be the errors, he does 
liberal justice to whatever is valuab le in other communi- 
ties. In many members of those which differ from his 
own, more in forms of government than in any of the es- 
sentials of doctrine, he sees powerful ability and sound 
learning to admire, and much substantial piety to venerate. 
Even with regard to that church, from the corruptions 
and spiritual tyranny of which our own has been providen- 
tially rescued, he acknowledges much excellence in those 
missals from which our own ritual was partly extracted; 
he sees in many of her writers a genius, a sublimity, and 
an unction^ that have rarely been surpassed. In short, lit 



€ANDIDU£j * 311 

*xercise3 charity and kindness to all sects and all parties,, 
except one a sect which has lately been well animadvert- 
ed on. It is not, indeed, a distinct sect; it is not a sepa- 
rate community, for then his prudence might escape all 
contact with it ; but it is one, whose sloth, producing the 
same insinuating effect which the subtlety of the Jesuits 
formerly produced, without giving us, like the school of 
Loyola, any hope of its extinction, has found means to 
thrust not a few of its followers into every religious denomk 
nation and society in the world — the sect of the non-doers. 

In these worst of sectaries, no vaunting profession of 
faith, no flaming display of orthodoxy, no clamour for fa- 
vourite, no hostility against reprobated, doctrines, no out- 
cry for or against the church or the state, will ever raise 
them in his estimation. He accounts them the barren 
fig-tree of every community in whose soil they spring up > 
They may, indeed, claim to belong to it, but it is as the 
worm belongs to the root, the canker to the bud, the ex™ 
crescence to the healthful body. 

In the constitution of the Established Church, Candi* 
dus approves the degrees of rank and dignity, and the gra- 
dations of income. But, if he never entertains a desire 
that the highest were lower, he cannot help breathing a 
cordial wish that the lowest were higher. Convinced, 
however, that every thing human is in its very nature im- 
perfect, he consoles himself w T ith the hope, a hope which h 
confirmed by actual instances, that some of the most highly 
endowed will be examples of Christian liberality, and some 
of the most lowly, of patient submission ; so that their 
several portions may, while they enable them to furnish a 
pattern to others, minister to their own eternal good. 

But evils which he cannot remove, he will never aggra- 
vate. He holds it criminal even to agitate questions which 
only fester and inflame the wounds they are meant to cure : 
he knows that fruitless discussion may irritate, but seldom 
heals 3 that querulous animadversions vn irremediable griev* 



813 CANDIDAS. 

-ances only serve, by stirring up discontent, to excite in* 
subordination. 

He respects every order and degree among them for the 
Lord's sake ; and, if a case should occur in which he can- 
not honour the man, he will honour his office. If called 
on for his opinion as to any defect, his censures are dis- 
creet ; if not called upon, he is silent. But if his censures, 
when just, are temperate *his commendations, when merit- 
ed, are cordial. Above all, he holds the practice to be 
equally dishonest, disingenuous and vulgar, to make com- 
munities and bodies answerable for the faults and errors of 
individuals ; while he never commends or vindicates any 
thing decidedly wrong, either in individuals or in com- 
munities. 



( 313 ) 
CHAP. XXVL 

THE ESTABLISHED CHRISTIAN. 

We have it on the authority of a fine writer, that, not tp 
know what occurred before we were born, is to be always a 
child. Yet while the intellect may be improved to the 
highest pitch by this antecedent knowledge, the will and 
the passions may, notwithstanding our study of the most 
elaborate discussions on their nature and effects, remain in 
the same state of childish imbecility. History and philo- 
sophy, though they inform the understanding, and assist 
the judgment, cannot rectify the obliquities of the heart. 

The experience of all past ages has produced such an 
accumulated mass of disappointment, such a long unbroken 
series of mortification, such a iterated conviction of the 
emptiness of this world, and of the insufficiency of its 
power to confer happiness, that one would be ready to 
imagine, that to every fresh generation, nay, to every pe- 
riod of the life of every individual in every generation^ 
wisdom would not have all her admonitions to begin over 
again. One would not think that the same truths require, 
not only to be afresh pressed upon us, but to be again un- 
folded ; to be repeated as if all previous experiment had 
never been tried, as if all foregoing admonition had either 
never been given, or had been completely obliterated ; as 
if the world were about to begin on a fresh stock of mate 
*ials, to set out on an untried set of principles, as if it were 
about to enter on an original course of action of which pre- 
ceding ages had left no precedent ; on a line of conduct of 
which our forefathers had bequeathed no instances o£ fail 
ure, had experienced no defeat of expectation, 

We read perpetually of multitudes, who lived in the 
| long indulgence of unbounded appetite, who in the gratifi 
| cation of every desire, had drained the Wrld to its last 



S14 THE ESTABUHED CHRISTIAN. 

dregs ; but does the narrative of ages reeord a single in- 
stance, that the end proposed and followed up in the fer- 
vent pursuit, I mean happiness, was ever attained ? We 
contemplate these recorded examples, we lament the di«» 
gusts, and pity the mortifications of the disappointed ; but 
who applies the knowledge to any practical use, to any- 
personal purpose? We are informed, but we are not 
Instructed. We resolve, in full confidence of our own wis? 
dom, and complete contempt for that of our predecessor^ 
to make the experiment for ourselves* We, too. pursue 
the same end, and probably by the same path ; secure that 
we shall escape the mistakes into which others have fallen^ 
assured that we shall avoid the evils winch they have in- 
curred, evils which we attribute to their ignorance, or thei* 
neglect, to their error, or their indiscretion. 

We set out fresh adventurers in the old tract. We wears 
our wits, we waste our fortune, we exhaust our spirits 
Still we are persuaded that we have devised the expedient 
of which our precursors were ignorant; that we have hit. 
on the very discovery which had eluded their search ; that 
we have found the ingredient, which they, in mixing up 
the grand compoimd, earthly happiness, had overlooked. 

The natural and pressing object of our desire is present 
enjoyment ; those, therefore, who gratify our wayward 
fancies, or remove from us any immediate inconvenience* 
are sure of our favour. On them we seize as instruments 
for promoting our schemes of gratification^ foEgetting that 
they have schemes of their own to promote; that they are 
equally looking to us for our instrumentality ; and thai, if 
they are making any undue sacrifices to us, it is but in 
order to the furtherance of those schemes^ Such is mere 
worldly friendship. As the intellectual eye seldom runs 
along the whole train of consequences, which is the -only 
true way of taking our measure of things, the same princi- 
ple which attaches us to the friend who is humouring us% 
shakes us murmur at the dispensations of Him who is gqj*- 



THE ESTABLISHED CHRISTIAN- 315 

meeting us, dispensations which, though painful at the mo- 
ment, may, by a train of circumstances of which we know 
neither the design nor the process, be insuring to us future 
benefits. But having no clear perception of remote good, 
we have no very ardent desires after it. Our short-sighted- 
ness concurs with our selfishness in making this false esti- 
mate. 

Divine goodness, which we perhaps haye hitherto with- 
stood, at length, when He who gives the grace gives the 
desire, touches the heart so long closed against it. The still 
small voice which w r as drowned in the noise and tumult of 
the world is at length heard, and, through longer forbear- 
ance, and farther communications of that grace, is at length 
obeyed. Religion operating on the convictions of the 
heart, and our humility improving with the experience of 
our own mistakes, gradually remove the veil through which 
we had hitherto beheld the world. 

As the heavenly light grows stronger, the false lights 
drawn from the exhalations of sensuality and self-indul- 
gence, which at once glimmer and mislead, are quenched. 
The day-star begins to dawn. In this clearer atmosphere., 
objects assume their proper shape ; every thing appears in 
its true colours. The mind is insensibly disenchanted, the 
views take another turn. As the eye attains a more dis- 
tinct sight, the desires acquire a juster aim. We discover 
that the best things on earth have an inseparable imperfec- 
tion appended to them. Referring to our past experience, 
or present clearer observation of things, we find that the 
delights which we fancied were indefectible are dying 
away ; we find that pleasure dissolves, wit misleads, riches 
corrupt, power intoxicates, hope deceives, possession dis- 
appoints ; — and, which now stamps upon our renewed fee- 
lings the deepest impression of the vanity of human things, 
difficulties sink our spirits, success agitates them : we find 
that what we want, we desire with a painful ardency ; 
what we have, we either fear to enjoy, or the enjoyment is 



£16 THL ESTABLISHED CHRISTIAN. 

poisoned. by the fear of losing it ; and that intense delight 
could not long be borne, even if it could be obtained. The 
convictions of the Christian_being settled, he is now desi- 
rous of imparting the benefits of his own experience to his 
younger friends, who, in their turn, commonly reject the 
transfer, thinking him to be as much mistaken as he had 
formerly thought his predecessors ; like him, they prefer 
the experiment to the advice, the risk to the caution 

The sober thinker is now convinced, that between the 
fever of desire, the uncertainty of attainment, the disap- 
pointment attending what is attained, the alternation of 
hope and fear, the dread of the worst things, and the insup- 
pressible sense of the brevity of the best, the mere man of 
the world can never be substantially happy. The Christiaa 
thus warned, thus wakened, is thankful, not for the mis- 
takes he has committed, but for the salutary vexations that 
have attended them. The monitory wisdom of past ages 
rises In his esteem, in the same proportion as his own sinks. 
Above all, he has found, that there is no infallible wisdom 
but in the oracles of inspiration; there he looks for whatever 
is " profitable for doctrine, for reproof, foi>correction, for 
instruction in righteousness." There only he has found, 
that the " man of God may be thoroughly furnished untfc . 
all good works." 

In perusing the sacred records, he even derives consola- 
tion from what has been a source of derision to the profane, 
and of wonder to the ignorant — the fidelity with which 
the inspired writers have exhibited holy men, in the most 
ceusurable instances of their conduct, and in the lowest 
stages of their hope and confidence. He there beholds 
the chosen servants of God wading through doubts and ap- 
prehensions, assaulted by temptations, perplexed by trials. 
Had they never been presented but in their happier sea« 
sons, but in their triumphs, and their victories, the compa« 
rison with his own failures, with his own occasional depres- 
sions and fluctuations, would have sunk his spirits which 



THE ESTABLISHED CHRISTIAN. 317 

taeynow support, would have weakened his faith which 
they now confirm. 

He rejoices in the Gospel as a stream flowing from the 
fountain of love and mercy, the spring of all spiritual life 
and motion ; he finds that genuine Christianity differs from 
every other good, as spirit differs from matter. It estab- 
lishes the foundation of happiness as well as goodness ; and 
both, not on any supposed merit in the recipient, but on the 
free mercy and voluntary grace of God. While it exacts obe- 
dience to the divine law, it shews that the requisition cannot 
be complied with, but by divine assistance ; what it com- 
mands^ bestows; if it requires the will, it confers the power. 

In the retrospect of his past life, he is astonished at the 
patience and forbearance of God under his own repeated 
provocations ; especially he reflects with wonder, that the 
very prosperity which had been the special gift of his Ma- 
ker, had alienated his heart from him. He is humbled to 
think, that it was in the very arms of his goodness he fop- 
got him ; when he tasted most abundantly of his bounty, 
then it was he neglected him most ; when he most largely 
enjoyed his overflowing beneficence, the gift induced not 
gratitude, but intoxication. He looks back with remorse 
on the time he has wasted, and the errors he has committed 
but he does not spend his remaining strength so much in 
regretting as in reparing them. 

To be enchanted with things which have not much in 
them, he now finds is the mark of a weak and undistin- 
guishing mind. It shews the absence of a rational under- 
standing, and the want of a manly spirit, to be inordinate- 
ly attached to any object, whose worth will not bear out 
our judgment, and vindicate our attachment. Habitual 
considerations on the littleness of present things, the dis- 
appointing nature of all earthly enjoyments, the grandeur 
of his future prospects, with nearer views of the eternal 
world, all combine to give continence to his mind, mode- 
ration to his desires, and sobriety to his conduct. 

i) a 2 



318 THE ESTABLISHED CHRISTIAN. 

We are slow in making the discovery of the large capa- 
city of the human mind ; that it is made capable of a fe- 
licity commensurate to its nature ; that the rudiments, both 
of eternal misery and happiness, are laid in our souls here. 
Being endued with such faculties and powers for seek- 
ing the favour of God, and such means and graces for at- 
taining to his presence, the Christian finds that the misery 
must be proportionate in missing it. He has also learned, 
that it is not the design of the Gospel merely to announce 
to us a state of future blessedness, but to tit us for it. It 
is but half the work of infinite love to provide a heaven for 
man ; it is its completion to make man a suitable recipient of 
the bliss prepared for him. Without this gracious provision, 
Christianity had been a scheme to tantalize, and not to 
save us. He sees that there is a higher destination for the 
passions than that to which he has hitherto applied them. 
Those affections which had been parcelled out, and seve- 
rally fastened on their respective vanities, are now con- 
centrated and devoted to God. Love, joy, hope, desire, 
the very propensities which have formerly misled him, ha- 
ving found their true object, now ripen him for that state 
from which they had long seduced him ; each contributes 
its quota towards framing him into a disposition for happi- 
ness, and to prepare him for its ultimate enjoyment. 

He has long since discovered that the best pleasures of 
earth are drawn from cisterns not fountains, that our most 
prized delights are neither pure in themselves, nor perma- 
nent in their duration. The immortal mind cannot be sa- 
tisfied in the pursuit, nor even in the enjoyment. They 
cannot confer what they do not possess, perfection and sta, 
bility. Things perishable themselves cannot satisfy the de- 
sires of beings made for eternity. The sguI cannot exert 
Us full powers, nor unfold its whole nature, nor display all 
its operations on this contracted stage. " The bed is nar- 
rower than that a man can stretch himself on it." There 



THE ESTABLISHED CHRISTIAN. 319 

is no proportion between such a scanty space and such large 
capabilities, such trivial pleasures and such boundless de- 
sires, such a fleeting duration and a spirit formed for immor- 
tality. 

He has found that it is of pressing necessity that this fu- 
turity be a happy one, otherwise the very circumstance 
that it is endless, which makes the happiness complete^ 
turns against us, and makes the consummation of our mis- 
cry. It is difficult to say whether the shortness of the 
time alloted us to secure this futurity, or the eternity of 
the state to be secured, should most stimulate oar religious 
exertions. We have frequently spoken of the duty of 
learning of an enemy, here the lesson is peculiarly awaken- 
ing. The reason assigned in the vision of St. John why 
the great enemy is working with such powerful energy, is, 
because the time is short. Shall we be equally assured of 
the brevity of our own time, and yet be less active in secu- 
ring our salvation, than he is in promoting our destruction. 

The boundlessness of the dirine perfections presents to 
ike soul the widest range for the exercise of faith and love, 
and the Gospel teaches the most unshaken confidence of 
happiness in the death of Christ. But that God is the 
King eternal and immortal, is to us the broad basis on 
which all the rest of the promises are built. It would mo- 
derate the delight with which we consider his attributes, 
if eternity were%ot annexed to them , his immortality 
alone being the pledge and security of ours. " The weight 
of glory" announced by the Apostle derives its highest 
value from its being an eternal weight. 

Of the joys of heaven there is in Scripture no description. 
This is wisely avoided, as the tastes, desires, and inclina- 
tions of men are so different, one conceiving that to be of 
the very essence of happiness, for which another has little 
relish. They are intimated by negatives, or by shadows, 
figures, and images of ihings, to which a general idea of en- 
joyment is annexed, There L? only one idea respecting 



320 THE ESTABLISHED CHRISTiAK* 

heaven, which is clear, and plain, and definite — its tfa 
Of duration every man has some precision in his ideas. 
Other delineations might have led to dispute ; but if the 
different notions of the nature of happiness might have 
kindled debate \ about its immortality, there can be but 
one opinion. Perpetuity gives the finishing stamp to per- 
fection. 

And as we frame our ideas of eternity from what we 
know of duration ; so we frame our faint notions of God, 
from what we conceive of goodness. We meditate on the 
excellencies of the highest created spirits, and then ima- 
gine something of God, though inconceivably elevated 
above that poor conception, yet not contradictory to it. 
We fill our mind with the idea of wisdom, goodness, know- 
ledge, power, holiness, justice, purity, and to each of these 
attributes we prefix that of infinite; never forgetting that 
God is almost as much above our excellences as our weak- 
nesses. Yet we can but ascribe to Him all that we feel or 
can imagine of perfection, and we should be still more lost 
in the mere abstract notion, if we had not some sensible 
feelings, though infinitely imperfect, derived from reality 
and exemplification. 

The Christian must fill his vocation to the last. In this 
or that profession men are looking forward to the period 
when they may lay it down with safety and honour: the 
Christian's safety and honour consist in Ms carrying it on 
to the end. But there is between them this point of agree- 
ment. The man of business contracts his schemes, di- 
minishes his labours, mitigates his activity, all with a view 
to his ultimate repose. If the religious man act thus, he 
does it with another view, and to a higher end. If he seek 
rest from his toils, it is in order to find a surer rest in God , 
^if he contract his schemes, it is that he may enlarge hrs 
views. There is no specific period in which he can say, 
My work is done, till he lies down in the grave, where no 
man can work. He now finds that the tranquillity of his 



THE ESTABLISHED CHRISTIAN. 321 

occupations, the beauties of nature, the peaceful pleasures 
of retirement, pleasures the most natural and congenial to 
the mind of unsophisticated man, would still be too little 
to fill his desires ; that they would leave a melancholy void 
in his heart, without the sense of His presence whose gift 
they are. While a consciousness both of the presence and 
favour of God gives a relish to every enjoyment, and 
iieightens even common comforts into blessings. 

There is a progression in the habits of a Christian. In 
the advancement of his course his pursuits are probably 
slower, but his interruptions are fewer. If his progress be 
even less obvious, less apparently active, he is perhaps 
more substantially improving, more spiritually advancing, 
When 3 from the infirmities of declining life, he may seem 
to be doing nothing, he may then be doing most. If he is 
able to lock less abroad, he is looking more within. He 
ce&ins to taste more of the fruits of that victory which the 
Apostle describes as the evidence of a renovated heart ; to 
give this best proof that he is " born of God," "he over- 
cometh the world." This, if one of his latest, \s one of his 
most important conquests. But though he has turned away 
his eyes from the world, because it never satisfied the de- 
sires of his heart, he endeavours to the last to serve it with 
much more sedulity than when he looked to it for his 
happiness. 

He has long been persuaded, that eves* in this present 
low state of being we must attain something of the rudi- 
ments of future happiness. He has learned that the first 
principles must be formed now, which are to have their 
consummation in heaven. To look forward to the com- 
pletion of a state and character, of which we have not so 
much as begun to acquire the elements, is not acting ac- 
cording to any of the analogies of common life. The be- 
ginning and the process of any thing we have in contem- 
plation always partake in an inferior, but still in a similar 
and progressive measure, of the nature of the end* "<ft has 



522 THE ESTABLISHED CHRISTIAN. 

the same properties and tendencies, in its initial state, wita 
that which is hereafter to be completed. We must begin 
to lay in oar hearts the foundation both of the knowledge 
and love of God, if we would hereafter attain to that per- 
fection in both, which we are told is of the essence of the 
heavenly happiness. 

He has long found that there is no peace to the mind that 
does not entertain some one ultimate end. Broken views 
and mixed designs distract its attention, and corrode its 
quiet. In most of the enterprises of life, a man, besides 
being absorbed by present and perhaps opposing schemes., 
is looking anxiously forward to some point of change. He 
lias no sooner framed owe project, but his views are pene- 
trating to something beyond it ; something which he shall 
adopt as soon as he shall have accomplished all his proxi- 
mate objects. Thus the projecting, and fluctuating, and 
prospective mind, is never at rest. There is no stability 
but in God. No grand aim, no fixed position, no ultimate 
end, but in him. He who has once chosen his Redeemer 
for his portion, is subject to no more vicissitudes ; has no 
after-reference, no remoter pursuit, no further design in re- 
serve. 

He, however, who makes heaven his aim, and God his 
end, will not therefore live idly, as if his choice being deci- 
ded, his object being settled, he had nothing more to do. 
His object is indeed fixed, his choice is irreversibly deter- 
mined, his portion is unalterably decided ; but that which 
elevates his desires also enlarges his capacities, so that his 
pursuit never ceases, his search is never finished; nor ever 
can be, unless the perfections of its object could be exhaus- 
ted. Mr. Boyle observes of a certain mineral, that a man 
may consume his whole life in the study of it, without 
ever arriving at the knowledge of all its properties. How 
much more shall he who seeks to " acquaint himself with 
God," find that his entire life is too short, his whole powers 
too smill to find out the Almighty to perfection ! This h£ 



4THE ESTABLISHED CHRISTIAN. §23 

will never completely accomplish on earth, yet his desires 
will grow with his attainments. 

But as the happines of a Christian is chiefly in prospect, 
he joyfully looks forward to its glorious consummation in a 
better world. " When I awake up after thy likeness I 
shall be satisfied," a plain intimation that till then we shall 
not be satisfied. From different passages of scripture, we 
collect that the happiness of heaven consists in seeing God, 
in participating his likeness, in being satisfied with it But 
how shall this blessedness be perfected hereafter, if the de- 
sire, if the endeavour, does not ©riginate here? If their be 
tto preliminary acquaintance begun with him who ransomed 
«s with his blood, can we expect to dwell with him in 
eternal glory? "Not to know God" is the portentous 
©men of being " punished with everlasting destruction front 
his presence." It is unspeakably distressing to apprehend, 
that this may possibly be the awful description of some, who 
are by no means destitute of credit or character \ who go 
on without ever entertaining a conception, that such a be- 
ginning may be connected with such an end. 

All the delineations of future misery, all the pictures of 
a disturbed imagination, all the terrors with which a rest- 
less conscience anticipates its torments, all the accumulated 
images by Which Revelation describes it, whether under 
the figure of the fire that is never quenched, or the worm 
that never dies, are but inferior degrees of this terrible cli- 
max, " everlasting destruction from the presence of the 
Lord !" All the doleful conceptions of unimaginable woe, 
all the shades and shapes of substantial, unutterably wretchr 
edness, are comprised in this hopeless, ever-during exile, 
what the soul suffers, there is no attempt to describe, what 
it loses is but faintly presented to the imagination. On 
the other hand, " eye hath not seen nor ear heard, nor hath 
the heart of man conceived," the final state of bliss. And it 
is observable that the two extremes are both most emphat- 
ic£iy conveyed by negatives., We are onlv assured that 



524 THE ESTABLISHED CHRISTIAN. 

assimilation with God is the perfection of joy, banishment 
from his presence the extremity of woe. 

There is nothing that more humbles and abases the es- 
tablished Christian, than that, whilst in his happier mo- 
ments, he is able tp figure to himself a cheering image of 
the glory of the Redeemer, the blessedness of the redeemed^ 
the beauty of Christian perfection ; to feel himself not only 
awakened, but exalted, not merely enlightened, but kin~ 
died, almost possessing, rather than anticipating, heaven ; 
while he is enabled, in a joyful measure, to meditate upoc*. 
these things, to feel his mind ennobled and his soul expan- 
ded by the contemplation, yet to find how soon the bright 
ideas fade, the strong impression is effaced, the heavenly 
vision vanished ; he mourns to reflect, that he does not 
more abidingly po^ess in his heart, that he does not more 
powerfully exhibit in his conversation, more forcibly dis- 
play in his life, that spirit of which his heart was lately so 
ftill of which his mind was so enamoured. Cast down by 
these reflections, he still learns — painful lesson! — that 
H those must sow in tears who would reap in joy f that it la 
not expectation, but possession, which excludes all sense of 
sorrow ; that it is heaven itself, and not the promise of it, 
that is to u wipe all tears from our eyes." His happiness 
in this life will, on these accounts, be as far below perfec- 
tion, as his goodness ; and when we speak of his joy and 
felicity, it must be understood, rather of a comparative, than 
an absolute happiness. It is the joy of hope rendered sure 
by faith The soul will not be completely blessed till the 
body is disanlmated, its temptations removed, and its infliv 
mities at an end. 

The Christian, as lite wears away, must not be discoura- 
ged, if he feel not always those fervors, which once appear- 
ed to him inseparable from real piety. It is not, perhaps, 
that hjs piety is less sincere, but that years and infirmity, 
which have impaired his natural energy of character, may 
affect or seem to affect the liveliness of Jus etevotion ; but 



THE ESTABLISHED CHRISTIAN. , $&D 

it may be mellowed, without being decayed ; he will not 
too much distress himself by mistaking that for a diminu- 
tion of grace, which may be only a wearing out of nature. 
Or it may be, that the principle, which is become habitual, 
may not for that very reason strike the mind so forcibly afc 
on its more early adoption, yet it may have sunk deeper 
into his heart. There may be more proportion in his reli- 
gion ; all its component parts may be more balanced : there 
is more evenness in his character ; more virtues, but of a 
less ostensible kind, are collected into it than he formerly 
thought necessary. His piety is at once more solid, and 
more spiritual, more operative, yet more serene. His prin- 
ciples have somewhat of a different call for their exercise : 
the efforts he formerly made to resist temptations of a 
bolder character, are now exerted to repel the incursions. 
of peevishness, the allurements of indolence, the murmurs 
Of impatience. Qualities which he once relinquished to the 
unconverted, as thinking them merely natural, he now 
carefully cherishes. Cheerfulness, once considered as the 
mere flow of animal spirits, is cultivated as a Christian 
grace ; for it does not now spring from nature, but triumphs 
over it. 

He is not so eager in support of some particular opinions 
as formerly, because each doctrine now maintains its pro- 
per place and due importance in his mind. If he make re^ 
ligion less a subject of discussion, he trusts it is become a 
more practical principle. His views are more deep, his 
judgment more just, his convictions more firmly rooted. 
There is a liner edge to his virtues, for they are now 
sheathed in humility; and this quality, the crowning point, 
and soundest evidence of a renovated mind, by rendering 
him more distrustful of himself, more candid in his opin- 
ions, and more temperate in his language, will have check 
ed that forwardness of debate, rashness of decision and 
^patience with error, which, with the less enlightened, 
B e 



326 THE ESTABLISH CD CHRISTIAN. 

miglit formerly have given him the appearance of a more 
animated Christian. 

But the more his character improves, the m6re he looks 
out of himself for his final happiness. His trust in bis 
Kedeemer increases in exact proportion to those virtues 
of which, that trust is the source, virtues on which too many 
others invite him to rest his dependence. 

8ome Christians, in their outset, are disposed to lay an 
almost exclusive stress on duties, without sufficiently culti- 
vating the spirit which should prompt them ; others too 
much overlook duties, relying on certain fervors for supply- 
ing their place. The established Christian is careful never 
to relax in duties, even though they are not attended with 
that energy which once gave more animation to the exer- 
cise. There may be in them a less sensible acting of the 
affections, which are naturally more alive in the active 
season of life, yet without any diminution of the real prin- 
ciple of piety; there will be rather an increased devoted- 
uess, an augmented acquiescence of the will, a more com- 
plete consecration of heart and spirit, to the only legitmate 
object of their entire aifection. 

He will, however, be solicitous, that if the flame emit 
not such vivid flashes, as when it was first lighted, yet that 
it shall burn more steadily, more equably ; especially will 
he be vigilant, tha* he do not insensibly transfer to other 
objects that ardour which used to give Hfe and spirit to his 
piety, and that while he fears he is not so much alive to 
God, it is because he is more alive to the world. Though 
others cannot fairly judge of his internal state, yet there 
is this sure test by which he will judge himself; if the na- 
tural tempers be not more subdued, if the irraseible pas- 
sions retain their vehemence, if pride and selfishness main* 
lain their sway, while the religious feelings alone arc grown 
qhtivse, it is an alarming* symptom, a plain intimation, that 
religion has indeed lost, or rather, it is to be {eared 
it never bad obtained the supreme place in bis heart. 



THE ESTABLISHED CHRISTIAN. 327 

- 

And as he has observed, that in some vehement charac- 
ters the lamp of religious fervour was first kindled by the 
fire of natural passions, so its flame declines vfith the de- 
clension of the natural powers ; he is also aware, that there 
is a possibility to the Christian, as he advances m year? , of 
a growing supineness, the too natural effect of which is a 
decay of the vital spirit of religion. This make? him trem- 
ble when he reflects that the same awful warning which, 
in the vision of the Apocalypse, " the spirit gives to the 
churches/' is addressed with equal emphasis to every indi- 
vidual Christian. He remembers that this compassionate 
spirit, which succours us when tempted, strengthens us 
when persecuted, intercedes for us when afflicted, has 
promised no such soothing tenderness under declining piety. 
His language to the decaying Christian, as well as to the 
lukewarm church, is that of alarming menace. This gra- 
dual apostacy is the only case, because it is a hopeless one, 
in which he threatens final rejection. It is, indeed, infi- 
nitely grievous, w r hen they, whom this blessed spirit has 
enlightened, in w r hom he has excited devout dispositions 
and holy tempers, visibly sink below the state in whick 
they once stood. In the volume of inspiration, every com- 
plaint, =every expostulation, every argument which long- 
suffering goodness could suggest, every intreaty which 
insulted mercy could devise > is exhausted ; nothing is omit- 
ted which can invigorate relaxing principle, nothing is 
neglected which can re-animate decaying piety. 

The advanced Christian, therefore, will guard against 
the two natural delusion of imposing on himself the be- 
lief, that a declension in spiritual vigour is only natural 
decay. But he will guard against it> by watching its sen- 
sible and visible effects. He will discern, whether he sets 
less value on the things which are passing away ; whether 
his attachment to the world diminishes, while his prayers 
for its prosperity and improvement increase ; whether he 
is us zsalous in promoting good works by his purss and his 



3£8 = TEE ESTABLISHED CHRISTIAN 

ftifluence, as he was, in the days of health and strength, by 
his personal exertions. 

The confuted Christian exemplifies the emphatica! de- 
scription of the good man in Scripture, " he walks with 
Crod " H« does not merely approach him at stated times; 
lie doe? not ceremoniously address him on great occasions 
only, and then retreat, and dwell at a distance ; but he 
milts with him, his habitual intercourse, his natural mo- 
tion, his daily converse, his intimate communication, is 
with his Redeemer: and he remembers that walking not 
only implies intercourse, but progress. His graces if not 
more sincere, are more universal ; he knows and he en- 
deavours to act upon the knowledge, that a Christian must 
be holy in " all manner of conversation ;" that excellences 
in some part of his character will not atone for allowed 
defects in any. 

In the still remaining varieties of this changing scene, 
not knowing to what particular trials he may yet be called, 
he will have endeavoured to bring a general preparedness 
of spirit to every event. When he can no longer do the 
will of God by his accustomed exertions, he can, with a 
submission which is worn into a habit, suffer it. That 
which is the crime of an ordinary man, is his highest at- 
tainment. He can submit to be vsdess. He will cheer- 
fully resign himself to be discharged from services, in 
which his former happiness had consisted. He will con- 
tentedly see himself laid by, though still stout in heart, 
and firm in spirit. He will kindly assist those who are 
rising up to fill the place which he is about to leave va- 
cant, by his counsel, his experience, hie prayers. He can 
rejoice, that though the servant fails, the service is and 
will be supplied. 

He will continue more assiduously to labour after that 
consistency of character, which is a more unequivocal evi- 
dence of high Christian attainment, than the most promi- 
'j&it great qualities, which are frequently counteracted 



THE ESTABLISHED CHRISTIAN 329 

by their opposites. This consistency exhibits a more 
striking conformity to the image of his Maker; as in the 
works of creation, the wisdom of the Supreme Intelligence 
is more admirable in the agreement and harmony of one 
thing with another, than in the individual beauty and ex- 
cellence of each. It is more conspicuous, in the fitness 
and proportion of its parts relatively, than in the compo- 
sition of the parts themselves. By this uniformity, the 
results of religion are the most beautifully exhibited in the 
Christian character. 

And as a real Christian is, allowing for human infirmity, 
consistent with himself ; so the same consistency is dis- 
coverable in the general features of all Christians. How- 
ever men may differ in their natural character, yet there 
is, in all true believers, a sort of correspondent feeling, as 
well as common principle, w r hich draws their affections to 
each other, as w r ell as their hearts and faculties to one 
common source and centre. It is not a traditionary reli- 
gion which attracts them to the faith of their ancestors, 
nor is it a party- feeling which attaches them to some par- 
ticular society, but it is a divinely infused principle, com- 
municated by the spirit of God; it is identified in all its 
essentials ; and a genuine Christian is radically the same 
being, wherever he is found, and under whatever difference 
of circumstances he exists. 

The nearer he approaches to God, the more, in one 
sense, he will be sensible of his distance from* him. Hi: h . 
views of God's unspeakable holiness, a deeper sense of hi 
own unworthiness, act reciprocally, and confirm each 
other. Yet this growing consciousness of his distance 
only serves to augment his love. He more ami more feeh 
the goodness of God, in having never cast off human na-, 
iujre, in having, immediately on its apostacy, conceived tie 
gracious design to repair its evils, and restore its dignity 
He feels, in its full force, that unspeakable consolation 
which the disciples of the most sublime of all the Pagan 
E e2 



THE ESTABLISHED CHRISTIAN, 

philosophers lamented was wanting in their religion ; they 
regretted that between the pure divinity and the impure 
creature, as there is no union, so there can be no communion- 
Can any thing more ftrikingly demonstrate how com- 
pletely the Mediator provides for that want, and estab- 
lishes that communion? " It is thus," as a very learned and 
pious writer has observed, "that the Gospel doctrine 
gives full relief of mind and ease of conscience, as well a? 
encouragement to piety, and discouragement to sin*." It 
gives not only future hope, but present peace ; it is not all 
in promise, it is much in hand. 

Through the silent, but effectual, operations of grace, 
obedience is become acquiescence, duty is transformed, not 
only into assent, but choice. If even a heathen could say, 
Lead me to whatsoever I am appointed, and I will follow 
thee, but if I am unwilling, still 1 will follow thee, no 
wonder if the confirmed Christian serves God not so much 
because he is bound to serve him, as because love is the 
dictate of his heart, affection the voluntary bent of his 
<:i?pcs>ition. He needs no extraneous attraction, the im- 
pulse is frota within. The raw recruit requires to be ai- 
lured by the u fife and spirit-stirring dram,*' but the vet- 
eran soldier follows the service because he loves it, fol- 
lows it for its own sake. There is no longer any violence 
done to nature, for the nature is made conformable to the 
object ; theHove of Christ constrains him, contrary prin^ 
ciples are reconciled, opposite propensities are blended. 
into one, and that one a blessed, though still imperfect, 
conformity to the image and the will of God. The more 
Lis perceptions are cleared and his will purified, the more 
his faith strengthens ; the more simple his views become, 
the more his thoughts and affections reduce themselves 
to thftt one central point, where alone perfection resides. 
fee has long observed that the scheme, the show, the 
fa: ion H t life Ufil passes away, so he does not forget, that 

• Je*r. Srmth. 



THE ESTABLISHED CHRISTIAN* S&J 

his own progress keeps pace with the world, that he also 
is passing away with it. Fluctuation, vicissitude, and de- 
cay, form the very characters of our being. " Nothing 
continueth in one stay." Surely these perpetual intima- 
tions of Scripture were intended for a constant memento; 
that fondness for things so transitory is as ill suited to their 
value as disproportioned to their duration. These constant 
admonitions inculcate temperance in our joy, and modera- 
tion in our sorrow. They teach us to rejoice as if we re 
joiced not, and to weep as if we wept not. Whatever is 
vain in the end, renders all reference to its intermediate 
course comparatively vain also. 

The Christian observes the world around him to be most 
careful about the things which will end at death ; his care 
is chiefly confined to the things which then begin ; and as 
it is not so much to ascertain the time, as to secure the 
consequences of death, that he has been anxious, death 
can never properly be said to be sudden to him, who al- 
ways knew that the event was as certain as the period 
was uncertain. But he does not convert the shadows of 
death into such a thick and substantial cloud, as shall pre- 
vent the mental eye from piercing through it, and seeing 
the glory beyond it. Through this deep, but pervious 
gloom, the bright prospect opens to- that state, a glimpse 
of which, caught by the eye of faith, has in all ages, enabled 
the sincere Christian to work through all his earthly diffi- 
culties: as it has strengthened him to encounter, with hoiy 
hope and humble confidence, the trials of life, so he trusts it 
will sustain him in his last conflict with the terrors of death, 
" Let me now," says he, " act as seeing him who is invis 
ible, borne up by the promises of the Gospel, and strength- 
ened by the eternal Spirit, let me anticipate my heaven,, 
burst my present narrow bounds, shake off the incumbrance 
of body, annihilate a distance in itself so short, and make 
that immortality which is near, present " 

Thus is the image of divine goodness more clearly though 



332 THE ESTABLISHED CHRISTIAN. 

still imperfectly, reflected in the confirmed Christian. The 
original character of the human heart, as it came from the* 
hands of its Creator, is about to be reinstated in its pristine 
purity. Sin, the lawless tenant, not the native proprietor 
of the mansion, will soon be totally expelled ; in the mean 
time, the primitive principle is radicated ; the usurper is 
dethroned, if not altogether dispossessed ; he is conquered, 
if not absolutely expelled \ if he sometimes disturb, he can 
no longer destroy. The exile returns to his forsaken 
home, the prodigal to his father's house, the pardoned pip- 
Hent to his .God. 



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AN ECCLESIASTICAL HISTORY, ancient and 
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Century: In which the rise, progress, and variation of Church pow- 
rr are considered, in their connection with the state of learning, and 
* QjjQsojphy, !]\ j the Folitical history of Europe during that period* 



4 New Works in Tlieology, %c. 

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THE FAMILY EXPOSITOR, by P. Doddridge, I 
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MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN RODGERS, D. D. 
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A NEW CONCORDANCE to the Holy Scriptures 
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THE USE OF SACREDHISTORY; especially 
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